Read My Lips
by Lord Cellytron
Summary: A sequel to "Tear Down This Wall". Rewrites ep 21 "Funk". Finn gets in far too deep when he helps Kurt prepare for his role as Velma Kelly. Meanwhile, Brittany has a problem of her own. Heavily implied sex, drug use and strong language. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A few brief notes:**

***This is, for all intents and purposes, a sequel to "Tear Down This Wall". I picked up the story about a week after "Tear Down This Wall" leaves off. Unlike TDTW, which takes place between "Theatricality" and "Funk" in the "new" timeline, this one goes right in and rewrites "Funk". Therefore, it DOES contain spoilers for "Funk", as the episode originally played out. ****  
**

***I never write sequels. Never direct ones, anyway. I tend to go in more for the "spiritual successor" thing, so this was new to me. I enjoyed it immensely, when I wasn't tearing my hair out, that is. :D**

***Let's do this shit!  
**

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, it got so that Finn was more intimately acquainted with the musical _Chicago_ than he had ever dreamed he would be. He frequently woke in the middle of the night with a start, clutching his head as if he could physically squeeze those catchy lyrics and addictive rhythms right on out of his brain.

Not that he would have wanted them gone, even if he could squeeze them out. He'd probably just pick them up off the mattress and stuff them right back in, no matter how much it hurt. And hurt it did. There was something about his growing enthusiasm for the songs, the story, Kurt's voice, the overall experience… and Kurt's voice, which struck him as almost unhealthy.

It was one of those things that gave him a weird feeling that he couldn't describe. Kind of like his entire relationship with Kurt Hummel nowadays.

* * *

"Dude. I'm sorry, but I gotta hear this one more time," Finn said, hitting the back button on the car's CD player just as "I Can't Do It Alone" ended.

"With or without my accompaniment?" Kurt asked with a giddy smile. Finn's unexpected growing love of musical theater gave him quite the rush, and he was happy to oblige the other boy's flights of lyrical fancy as many times as he could.

Finn scoffed, as if the question was completely ridiculous.

"God, with, of course."

"Too kind, Sir. Too kind," Kurt whispered. Blush joined with giddy smile, and for a moment, as they took the exit onto the freeway, he forgot everything except the music.

And Finn.

And Finn, likewise, forgot everything except the music, and Kurt's pitch-perfect duet with whatshername, that hot chick from _Zorro_...

"Finn! Jesus!" Kurt screamed as the car veered into the other lane. Horns blasted all around them from angry fellow motorists, and Finn quickly pulled back into his lane.

...and driving, of course.

"Sorry, sorry! Shit!"

"God in heaven, Finn! If you're going to drive like a blind chimpanzee with Parkinson's, do it in your own car!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Baby, it's okay," Kurt was stroking the dashboard, "It's okay."

It happened like that a lot.

* * *

And then, there was the way his relationship with Kurt was evolving, which was another story completely.

"Well, I have good news, bad news, and ambiguous news," Kurt had told Finn, Brittany and Mercedes earlier that day during lunch.

"Good news first," Mercedes said.

"No, bad news," Finn mumbled around a mouthful of Kurt's sandwich.

Carole was still in "don't know what to do with myself" mode after the accident, and had taken to making lunches for "her boys" to take to work and school. Finn was currently eating Kurt's lunch; Something was always wrong with the food Carole tried to make for him, and he always happily handed over his food to Finn, preferring to take his chances with the cafeteria.

Not that Finn minded. Turning down a free sandwich was like turning down a free hooker. Probably.

"I kind of wanted to hear the..." Brittany trailed off.

"And, I agree, Brittany. Best to start with the ambiguous news, which is," Kurt began, "That Coach Sylvester, most magnanimously, has decided not to kick me off the Cheerios, even though I violated my contract with her by breaking my ankle."

"Alright!" Mercedes clapped. Even though she was no longer a part of the Cheerios, she was totally supportive of Kurt's enthusiasm for the program, and knew that he had been worried about his position for awhile, especially after Katie Cannon had been kicked off last month for sneezing at the top of the pyramid.

"Man, that's great," Finn smiled a moment later, once he figured out what Kurt had actually said. He sighed with relief. "Because, I woulda been... really pissed if you'd gotten kicked off. You know, because of... me."

Kurt tucked his chin into his chest and gazed up at him with a quiet, demure smile. God, that kid's eyes were big. He waited a little too long before continuing,

"The good news, therefore, is that Brittany and I will be traveling to compete in, and with any luck, win, Nationals next week."

"Yay!" Brittany squealed, leaning over the table for a tight, super close hug. That went on far too long. And ended up spilling Mercedes' milk.

"That's great. Okay, so, what's the bad news?" Mercedes asked loudly and irritably as she tried to use her napkins to mop up the growing puddle, hoping that Brittany would get the hint and let go.

"The bad news... oh, god, Brittany, this hurts. This really hurts-"

"You're so soft," Brittany whispered. "You're so squishy, like my cat..."

Kurt wrenched himself free from the girl's talon-like grip, and sat back, attempting to straighten his fabulous blazer from where Brittany had rumpled it.

"This is Brooks Brothers, Brittany," he snapped, amazingly not stumbling over any of the alliteratives. "God!"

"His name is Potato... My cat, I mean." Brittany finished.

"Okay, so Kurt, dude. What's the bad news?" Finn asked, trying to route the conversation back around to the news, before Kurt went off on an emotional rant about the hand-tailored seams of his favorite jacket. Again. Or Brittany started telling them all about her cat. Also again.

Kurt smoothed down his still-immaculate hair, took a deep, cleansing breath, and closed his eyes.

"Oh. Of course. It's down to that. The bad news. Well, the bad news is that the day of Nationals also coincides with the penultimate performance date of our school's production of Chicago."

"Aw, man, Kurt, I'm sorry." Mercedes said.

"What?" Finn yelled. "That's bullshit!"

"Hey, cool it with the language," Mr. Schue, who was suddenly there, hissed. "Guys, I'm on lunch duty today, remember? Language like that can get you sent to ISS."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Schue, but it is! It's bullsh-"

"Well, that's fine; you're free to express your opinions. Just keep it down!"

"You're on lunch duty again?" Brittany asked. "Sometimes it seems like you're the only teacher at this school..."

Everyone ignored Brittany, and returned their attention to Kurt.

"No, no. It's not so bad. I'll still be there to perform on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. But, it does present a problem. Who will take over as Miss Velma Kelly while I'm gone?"

"We'll figure something out. How about Tina? I bet she could kick some ass at it," Mercedes grinned.

"It's true, she could. But it's such short notice, and it's so many lines, and all those songs... I feel awful imposing on her like this. Or anyone else, for that matter."

The bell rang, and the cafeteria began to empty. Finn, as had become habit, remained with Kurt, dumping his tray for him and carrying his stuff to his next class. Brittany was making a great show of hanging behind as well, and she kept in step with the two of them, eyes lowered.

"Well, Finn," Kurt said personably, "I certainly do appreciate your support."

"What do you mean? I've been carrying your stuff for weeks."

"Not that. I mean your... rather untoward, yet highly flattering outburst earlier."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I mean..."

"You really feel very passionately about this play. I wish you hadn't dropped out. I think you should be a part of it, too."

"No, no, man. Musicals aren't my thing. Like, at all."

"Hmm."

"And the, uh... outburst... that was because I thought penultimate meant something else. I thought it had to do with, like, prison."

Kurt shot him a confused, pitying look, and Brittany shook her head sadly.

"He's just so dumb," she whispered to Kurt. "Why do you hang out with him?"

Kurt sighed and braced himself for the long hop down the corridor to his fourth period. Finn remained at his side, while Brittany trailed farther and farther behind.

"Finn, would you mind... after school, taking a little side trip?" Kurt asked suddenly.

"Huh? Yeah, sure. Anywhere you want. Name it."

"The Power Strip. The, uh, doctor says..." Kurt lowered his voice, and a flush came over his cheeks, "That the cast can come off in a few days. And I should start doing rehabilitative exercises to get back on my feet, as it were. He suggested Wii Fit as an option, and I think that's what I'll do."

"Wii Fit? Hey, yeah. That's supposed to be kind of... awesome."

"It's supposed to be for sedentary little old ladies. But, it does have the benefit of being highly intuitive, with an array of exercises, and I can do it in the privacy of my own basement, unlike physical therapy, which... no."

Finn felt a little overwhelmed as he nodded, and a wave of sadness laced with guilt washed over him. While certainly not the messiest aspect of Kurt's recovery, it was still just unsavory and pathetic enough that Finn felt kind of awful for him, and for causing the injury in the first place.

It was funny, he mused, how the aftermath of Kurt's heroic rescue was proving to be every bit as mundane and depressing as the original act had been epic and awesome.

It was like Superman saving Lois Lane from the train tracks, and then coming down with a bad case of jock itch. Totally unfair.

Of course, he quickly realized that such an analogy painted him as Lois Lane. Another step taken on the road to fully becoming The Girl In The Strange Relationship Between Kurt and Finn.

Or, Kurt and Finnessa. Puck had called him that once.

There, in his head, was an image of Finnessa (Finn, except with longer hair and wearing a dress) tied to the train tracks, waiting for SuperKurt to swoop in to the rescue.

And then off to the pharmacy to get some Tough Actin' Tinactin...

With a kiss.

He cringed.

Did Kurt even remember that? Finn honestly didn't know. Kurt had been so whacked out on Vicodin at the time that Finn probably could have given him a lap dance in a Kermit the Frog suit and Kurt would have just replied with, "Oh, cool."

But the fact remained, that in the heat of... something, Finn Hudson had kissed Kurt Hummel.

And they hadn't talked about it.

What the hell had it meant?

"So... anyway..." Kurt was saying in an irritable tone, aware that Finn hadn't said anything in about a minute.

Finn quickly turned back to his friend and semi-stepbrother, putting on a sheepish smile and trying to set aside his humiliating reverie.

"Totally! We'll go. Power Strip. It'll be awesome. Anything you need, we'll do it. Anything."

"Alright. Thank you."

"Hey. I mean it, Kurt. Anything."

"...Thank you."

Finn nodded. They had arrived at Kurt's class. Finn needlessly held the already open door as Kurt hopped to his desk.

"Alright, you good?" Finn asked from the doorway. A few students chuckled.

"Yes, Finn, I'm fine. Thank you. You have 30 seconds to get upstairs to Ms. Ado's' class," Kurt said through a tight smile.

"I'll make it. See you later!" Finn grinned, nodding to Kurt's teacher, who looked impatient and overly caffeinated.

Exactly how Finn felt. He wished he could blame his feeling on caffeine.


	2. Chapter 2

Finn totally didn't make it on time to his next class. Not even close. He had managed to get out of detention that day by simply walking out without mentioning it to anybody. It would most likely get him double detention the next day, but he'd deal with that when he dealt with it.

He didn't mention it to Kurt, naturally, and the ride to the nearest Power Strip was exceptionally pleasant and awesome, except for the part where Finn almost killed them both by driving like a moron.

He couldn't help it. Something about that music, and Kurt's voice just... ruined his brain, and his heart with it.

It was like being on Vitamin D, only weirder and more intense. And, in a way, more terrifying. With the Vitamin D, you just stopped taking them. And your head felt weird for a few weeks or so, and you'd sleep 27 hours at a stretch, and people would talk too slow. But that was it. When it was over, it was over. An easy solution.

What was the solution to this shit?

And it really had come out of nowhere, his sudden obsession. That was the thing. It had come out of nowhere.

Three days ago, after he had spent the entirety of his math class staring into space while, of all things, "Mr. Cellophane" ran through his head on an endless unbidden loop, he sat sweating, compulsively rubbing his face, and trying to get rid of that awful metallic taste in his mouth. And he realized for the first time that he might have a problem.

Well, maybe not the first time. Because, five days ago, he had woken up at 3 in the morning, hearing the Cell Block Tango so clearly that he would have sworn it was playing in the room. He had even gone so far as to use his cellphone as a flashlight to stumble across the dark room and check Kurt's iPod dock to make sure that the music wasn't really playing.

It wasn't. Maybe that was when he first realized he had a problem.

Yeah. It was. Because a week ago, he had only agreed to play that well-worn soundtrack CD in the car on the way home from school out of a sense of obligation. At that point, he still wasn't sure which girl was even the one Kurt was playing. He also wasn't sure whether or not he even had the right CD in, and when Kurt had popped it out, saying it was actually the soundtrack to _Spider-Man 3_, Finn had had to admit that he didn't know the difference.

Yeah. And then, two weeks ago, he was still confusing the musical with that other one Rachel was always talking about, the one with the French guys from like 500 years ago or whenever. Apparently that Susan Boyle chick wrote the music for it. Yeah, that one.

And, of course, three weeks ago, he was reluctantly cast in the play that he had, up to that point, never heard of, and didn't even realize he had to sing.

And he realized now that he envied that self from three weeks ago. He really did. Even with as complicated as everything had been then, what with Rachel fucking with his heart and leading Jesse around everywhere like a trophy, and the endless rehearsals, and moving, and the entire fiasco with Kurt and his dad...

Well, okay, this was a little better than THAT.

But it was still confusing as hell.

Pulling up to the big-box electronics store, the still hilariously named Power Strip, Finn was riding high on a wave of euphoria.

"Man, let's do this!" he exclaimed, a little too loudly, as he turned off the car and the music stopped.

"We will, Finn. Let's get out of the car first."

Finn made a mental note to calm the hell down, for god's sake. Though he doubted that it would last. Something about trying to calm the hell down from this feeling almost seemed like a crime.

"I don't see how we're supposed to get a good feel for using the device when it's embedded in 25 pounds of steel," Kurt grumbled, leaning against the well-lit Apple iPad counter, poking at one of the display iPads, which was indeed embedded in a metal theft deterrent case, too heavy to lift with one hand.

"I think that's so people don't jack them," Finn said thoughtfully.

Kurt gave him a withering glance, coupled with a tragic sigh. Brittany may have had a point after all.

"What is taking that man so long?" Kurt hissed. "How long does it take to go in the back and grab two boxes?"

"I don't know. But, dude, I still can't even believe you didn't know you needed a Wii to play Wii Fit," Finn said it as though he couldn't fathom the idea of anyone not having encyclopedic knowledge of every current generation video game console on the market.

"Well, I didn't. Games aren't really my thing," Kurt said irritably, turning his attention back to the lovely, shiny masterpiece of modern technology on the counter before him.

"It's not even really a game." Finn seemed flustered, and his face grew red. "I mean, but, I can totally see where you wouldn't have a Wii. Those are for girls."

Kurt glared at him.

"Well, then I see your point. I suppose it is rather surprising that I didn't already have one, isn't it?"

"What? No! Oh my god. No. God. What are you even talking about! I didn't say you were a girl!"

"Mm-hmm."

"Man, I bet there are tons of guys who have Wiis! I just don't know any of them, but that doesn't mean anything-"

Kurt tried to act engrossed in checking the weather and hitting the "home" button on the iPad multiple times. A thousand biting, scathing and truly hurtful phrases raced through his mind. It was only a matter of settling on one.

"You're not even- this isn't even- I mean, it's not like you're buying _Cooking Mama_," Finn said helplessly.

Kurt nodded, and decided to give Finn one more chance to dig himself out of the hole he was steadily burrowing.

"God," Finn finally said, rather dejectedly. He was well aware that he was in deep.

"Well, Finn, now that you've made your point, allow me to-"

"Goddammit!" Finn yelled, much too loud for the middle of a store. Several people turned around to look, including an elderly couple who had been pricing washing machines.

"Will you keep it down," Kurt snapped. "It is possible to engage in a heated argument in public without causing a scene, you know."

"Fuck this," Finn said in a choked, angry voice, turning away. "God. You know? Fuck this. Why do you always overreact to everything? I can't even just say something without you thinking I'm talking shit about you!"

The pimply, awkward Power Strip employee had suddenly returned with the two boxes. He was staring at the two of them with a look that clearly told them that he would call store security in a heartbeat and have them escorted out.

He was also far too old to be pimply and awkward.

"Sorry that took so long," he said pointedly. "Everything okay here?"

"It's fine. Can you ring me up here?" Kurt said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"…Yeah."

In what had long since become second nature, Kurt swung onto his crutches and hopped the few feet over to the register. He tried not to be aware of Finn lingering behind him. Finn had conditioned himself to stay within a bubble of five or six feet behind and to the right of Kurt, so as not to get his toe smashed by the crutches, but to be close enough so that he could... do whatever he felt he had to do.

Finn's always ruddy Irish complexion was a flaming vermillion of impotent rage and disgust.

Kurt could only imagine what he looked like. The store was far too hot, and his own emotions were probably spelled on his face just as blatantly as Finn's were.

It was all so theatrical.

Finn took the bag in silence without being asked. Was he playing martyr again? It was so irritating when he did that, and he did it so frequently.

The walk back to the car was just as silent. Kurt got in the passenger seat as Finn loaded the crutches and the bag in the back.

Kurt took an extra deep sniff of his lavender vanilla air freshener as he closed the door. It didn't do much to soothe his nerves.

He missed his baby. He missed being alone with her, behind the wheel where he belonged. He missed the way she molded herself to his every contour, the way she reacted without question to his every motion. The way she'd seem to know exactly when he was feeling down, and pull into the Pier 1 Imports lot before he even realized that's where he wanted to go.

Finn, on the other hand, was simply treating her like a car. A tool. He didn't understand her.

He didn't understand a lot of things.

Finn got in the driver's seat without a word. It had started to rain, and his shirt was damp. Kurt winced as he realized that the smell from the damp, infrequently laundered shirt would linger long after the rain had ended.

With a sort of wry pang of recollection, it occurred to him that a month ago, the idea of his car smelling like Finn would have been enough to make his waking life unendurably thrilling, and would have haunted his dreams.

Now, it just annoyed him.

He started the car roughly, like you'd start a lawnmower. "Razzle Dazzle" was about a minute in, and Kurt folded his arms with indignant irritation.

He wasn't going to turn it off.

Neither was Finn, as it turned out.

Silence as the rest of the album played. Silence as the little drizzle of rain on the windshield turned to sheets.

"I Move On" came on. A Velma song. THE Velma song, in Kurt's opinion. The show stopping finale. The culmination of every kind of joy you could possibly feel.

Kurt glanced over at Finn, who was still silent with rage.

Well, the hell with Finn. Seriously. The hell with him. Kurt needed to sing. His dancing would be all but nonexistent and he knew it would be all about the vocals for this one.

All about out singing Rachel, who couldn't help but out dance him, and was also well capable of out singing him.

Damn her talent.

_"While truckin' down the road of life, although all hope seems gone,_

_I just move on. "_

The raw determination came through in his voice, and Finn, to his credit, seemed stunned. Well, good. If he couldn't move Finn, he probably couldn't move a real audience, either.

Roxie's solo. Rachel's solo. Screw her.

Velma's next part. Words he needed to say, and needed to believe.

_"I run so fast, a shotgun blast can hurt me not one bit."_

Rachel solo.

Duet. Outsing her. Outsing her. Outsing yourself!

_"So as we play in life's ballet, we're not the dying swan, we just move on,_

_We move on."_

Rachel's solo part. Damn her, because he actually liked that part, and would have rather sung it. When he was alone, of course, he sang the entire song himself. The entire album himself.

_Kurt Hummel Does Chicago: A One Man Show._

Well, someday.

_"We don't despair, we don't go there, we hang our bonnets out of town._

_So there's no doubt we're well cut out to run life's marathon, we just move on,_

_We just move on._

_So fleet of foot, we can't stay put, we just move on._

_Yes, we move on!"_

A strange sound, and Kurt realized that Finn was badly singing along. Had he been doing it the whole time? Singing Roxie's part? Horribly?

Finn actually knew the damn lyrics.

That shouldn't have hit Kurt as hard as it had, he realized as he took a much needed deep breath.

End of the song.

Curtain.

Thunderous applause.

And damn him and his enormous heart underneath all the idiocy, Finn would be applauding the loudest, wouldn't he? Kurt could see it as clearly as he could see the dashboard in front of him. Finn would be in the front row, so close he could touch the stage.

He'd be leaning forward in his seat, eyes agog. He'd be mouthing the words to all of Kurt's songs as they came. He'd be getting strange looks from the other audience members. He wouldn't care.

He'd be standing at the end, probably wearing that same suit Kurt had helped him pick out to go over to the Fabrays and tell them that he had knocked up their daughter, back when he thought he had.

He'd be uncomfortable when Rachel came out to bow four hundred times like Kurt knew she would. He'd be extremely uncomfortable when Jesse ran onto the stage with a massive bouquet of red roses for her. He'd want to die a little when Jesse picked her up, whirled her around, and kissed her in front of the entire audience.

He'd be back to uncomfortable when Quinn couldn't bow, because of her massive baby bump. Puck would pull some shenanigan or other, possibly pull Quinn into a similar kiss to try and outdo Jesse. With tongue.

But he would still clap just as loud as ever.

Because underneath all the idiocy, that was just the way Finn was.

Damn it.


	3. Chapter 3

The car went silent, save for the air conditioning and the sound of the rain hitting the roof.

Kurt was trying to think of the best way to say... he didn't even know what, but Finn interrupted him with a tense,

"I'm sorry, Kurt."

And then, a less tense,

"You're really awesome."

And then, a sigh,

"And I'm an asshole."

"No, you're not," Kurt said softly. And immediately.

And then, with a sigh of his own,

"And I'm sorry, too."

Finn nodded, and tried to smile.

Close. They were close to reconciliation. Finn's ego was still bruised, though. Kurt decided to play an unnecessary but possibly very rewarding card, just to show that he bore no grudge.

Even though he did. But he could work around it.

"Finn?" Kurt asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"...Will you set up my Wii for me when we get home? I figure... you're better at this stuff than I am."

Finn looked surprised, but nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course I will."

"...Thank you."

Finn glanced over at him with a half-laugh, half breathless sigh that said everything.

God, Kurt still adored him, didn't he?

"Hey, you know, it was really funny," Finn said suddenly.

"What was?"

"I think one of those big iPod thingies had porn on it."

"The iPads?"

"I don't know. The things we were looking at."

"The iPads."

"Yeah."

"It had porn on it?"

"Yeah. It was a picture of like, this naked guy made out of stone? You could see his dick and everything."

Kurt frowned, and then shook his head as he realized what Finn meant.

"That's Michelangelo's David," he sighed. "It's a masterpiece."

"Oh. You saw that one," Finn shifted uncomfortably.

Glee/Play rehearsal the next day. Finn had taken his now-usual seat next to Kurt, and glanced over at the smaller boy, who seemed nervous.

They... rather, _Kurt_ had a 5:45 appointment that day to have the cast removed. Three weeks and some odd days later, and it was finally almost over.

Finn resisted the urge to ask if Kurt was okay. He had already asked that multiple times during the day, and instead, he decided to focus on something else.

Rachel. Rachel, sitting next to Jesse, though not leaning all over him for a change. In fact, while she was sitting next to him, she was facing almost completely away, with her arms folded across her chest, and her legs crossed.

God, her skirt was short.

And also, god. She looked pissed. At Jesse? Maybe he wasn't as good in bed as he was at everything else in the entire damn world.

Not that Finn was bitter about that or anything.

He had long since ruled out thinking about _Chicago_ to distract himself. It would distract him, alright. And then three or four hours later, he'd still be trying to get it out of his head.

Mr. Schue was getting ready to talk. That was good. That would distract him.

And then, Rachel burst out with:

"Mr. Schue, before we begin rehearsals today, I think that Jesse has something he'd like to share with the group. Jesse?"

Finn turned around. It was apparent that Jesse most certainly did not want to share anything with the group. He gave Rachel a stunned look.

"What are you-" he whispered. Rachel wasn't listening, and she stood up. From where Finn was sitting, he could have totally seen up her skirt, but he didn't... he didn't.

He didn't.

"Well, I had a very enlightening little chat with Artie the other day," Rachel snapped. "He found something rather interesting on the show choir blog circuit. Didn't you, Artie?"

All eyes on Artie, who looked like a deer in headlights.

"Oh... Yeah... I... did," he mumbled.

"And why don't you tell us all what you found out the other day?" Rachel had both hands on her hips.

"Uh..." Artie adjusted his glasses. "Yeah. Well... I was reading the blogs, and someone who went here a few years ago..."

"Patches?" Brittany interrupted.

"Well, Patches probably doesn't have a computer," Artie said. "So I don't think it was him."

"He could use the one at the library..."

"It wasn't Patches!" Rachel exclaimed.

"I don't know that for sure, actually," Artie swallowed, "But who wrote it is incidental. It was someone who went here a few years ago, when by some fluke, the old Glee Club actually made it to sectionals and won."

"Right," Schue nodded. "I read about that. They kind of won by default, though, so we don't really count it. The other club had food poisoning and got disqualified after their soloist barfed on the judges."

"He barfed on all of them?" Puck asked. "Like, all at the same time?"

"Oh my god. Who cares?" Santana asked, thoroughly bored.

"I don't know. All I know is that after they won, they too were scheduled to go up against Vocal Adrenaline," Artie said.

"They TOO were scheduled to go up against Vocal Adrenaline!" Rachel echoed, looking at Jesse accusingly.

"Artie, what exactly does any of this mean?" Kurt asked smoothly. "They went up against Vocal Adrenaline, and I assume they lost."

"Well, no, they didn't," Artie stammered, "They didn't go up against Vocal Adrenaline. They weren't able to. Because somehow, the day before the competition, their bus, all their costumes, and Mr. Ryerson's Liza Minnelli hood ornament all somehow got donated to the Akron Goodwill by an anonymous benefactor. They had to drop out of the competition."

Kurt, Mercedes, Tina, Mike and Matt winced.

"And, Artie? Who did that anonymous benefactor turn out to be?" Rachel prodded.

Artie shrugged.

"I don't know."

Rachel glared.

"But it was probably Vocal Adrenaline," Artie finished quickly. "It fits their MO."

"Indeed it does. As it turns out, there's even a name for this, Mr. Schue," Rachel declared. "Maybe someone who knows a little more about it, Jesse, can tell you what that name is."

All eyes were now on Jesse.

"...It's called a Funkification," Jesse sighed.

"What?" Mercedes asked.

"A Funkification. A systematic crushing of the spirits of a rival Glee Club, driving them into a deep, unrelenting funk. We do it every year. It's always something different. We try to hit them where they live. And... We succeed."

Mr. Schue seemed taken aback. He let out a breath.

"God."

"My reaction exactly. Mr. Schue, what are we going to do about this?" Rachel asked.

Schue looked at Jesse helplessly.

"Jesse, do you have any-"

"I'm just as in the dark as you all are," Jesse said quickly. "I have no idea what they've got planned."

"Well, so what do we do?" Puck scoffed. "Walk around like crazy people, all paranoid, expecting something bad to happen at any second?"

"No," Schue said firmly. "No. We're not going to give them the satisfaction. If something's coming, then it'll come, and we'll deal with it then. We're not going to let it ruin our lives in the meantime."

Rachel looked back at Jesse, sighing loudly.

"You would certainly think there would be something that someone could do," she said pointedly.

"There is. We're going down to the auditorium like usual. Play people, you're doing play. Glee people, you're doing glee." Schue clapped his hands. "Let's go."

"Mr. Schue, don't forget-" Kurt began, but Schue nodded.

"I know. I know. Yeah, hey, play people, step on it. Let's go."

There weren't enough guy magazines at that doctor's office.

There never were, of course. Many had been the time that Finn had been in the waiting room of one doctor's office or another, and had contented himself with staring out the window, or watching the snot drip out of a screaming baby's nose, or counting the tiles on the floor, rather than face the humiliation of paging through _Ladies Home Journal_.

Today, he was distracted enough by his own mind and his own heart. He needed a distraction from the distraction, but one didn't seem to be available.

They were all there. Well, everyone who lived at Chez Hummel, anyway. Burt, Carole, an irritated Finn and a pensive Kurt.

Finn ultimately found his thoughts going back to Vocal Adrenaline, and the promised "Funkification".

"Screw Vocal Adrenaline," Finn said suddenly, causing most of the people in the waiting room to glance in his direction. He was certainly doing that a lot lately.

"Agreed," Kurt said. "Seriously, screw them."

"It's just crap," Finn said. "Like we don't have enough to worry about already. Them and their... Funkification."

"Tell me about it." Kurt shifted in his chair. "Did I sound brassy today?"

"What?"

"During rehearsals. I felt brassy."

Finn had no idea what brassy meant.

"Is brassy a good thing or a bad thing?"

"For me, it's a terrible thing."

"No, you didn't sound brassy," Finn said automatically.

Kurt rolled his eyes and scoffed.

Burt smirked.

"Hey, you didn't handle that any better than I would have," he told Finn. "He asks me stuff like that all the time. I never know what he means, either."

Kurt bristled.

"I happen to be venturing out on a courageous and unprecedented theatrical undertaking, gentlemen!" Kurt snapped. "If I'm not at my absolute best, I'll not only tarnish my own reputation, but the reputation of Chicago itself. I can not... no. I _will not_ be brassy!"

"You didn't sound brassy-" Finn said ineffectually.

"You don't even know what that means, Finn!"

"Okay, guys," Carole said suddenly, setting down her magazine. "Seriously. Knock it off. Kurt, calm down and stop yelling at Finn. And Finn, don't patronize Kurt."

"I wasn't!" Finn cried.

"Yes, you were," Kurt said irritably.

The four of them sat in silence for a minute, before Kurt suddenly gasped.

"Finn Hudson!" he exclaimed.

"God! What did I do now?" Finn yelled.


	4. Chapter 4

"It's what you didn't do," Kurt said, digging through his messenger bag. He extracted a black Sharpie. "I'm having my cast off in a few minutes, and you haven't even signed it yet, you utter cad."

"You haven't signed it?" Carole asked, horrified. "Finn!"

"What?" Finn flushed. "I didn't think people were... still doing that."

"People may not be, but you are," Kurt handed him the marker and in one swift and graceful motion, laid his leg in Finn's lap.

Wow. Not weird or anything.

"What do I gotta write?" Finn mumbled, acutely aware of the weight and hardness of Kurt's tiny yet well muscled calf stretched across his thighs.

_God_, Finn realized, _This kid is seriously built. _

That was an uncomfortable realization. A damned uncomfortable one. Especially since Finn should have already known that. Kurt was strong enough to shove Finn across the auditorium stage, for god's sake.

And people were staring. Burt was watching with the look of someone who knew something very significant was about to happen, but he wasn't sure what. And whatever it was, he wasn't going to be comfortable with it.

"Write anything you want," Kurt said, trying to sound dismissive, and failing. His voice was soft, low, and so damned smooth.

All eyes were again on him. On them. On Finnessa Lane and Clark Kurt, his mild-mannered , 90 pound superhero who was strong enough to push a piano uphill, hit a high F, and a million other things that Finn couldn't even pretend to be able to do, or even fully understand.

People like Kurt Hummel, Finn realized, weren't supposed to exist in real life. He was like a gay James Bond.

And now, god damn, Kurt was so close to him. So fucking close. His head was practically on Finn's shoulder, for god's sake. He could feel Kurt _breathing_. He even did that better than Finn.

"Everyone else already signed it today," Kurt said, and Finn could practically feel Kurt's voice inside of him. "Even Jesse. I waited until the end of the day, so none of the signatures would get smudged."

"Wait… who wrote this?" Finn asked, pointing to a hastily scrawled "I can make your bed rock, call me 555 121 6225", accompanied by a picture of what appeared to be Fred Flintstone in a sombrero riding a winking Dino.

"What? Oh, GOD, dammit, I told her to just sign her name," Kurt snapped, burying his face in the back of the chair.

"Brittany?" Finn asked needlessly.

"Yes," Kurt mumbled, his face still embedded in the back of the chair.

Damn, Finn realized, Kurt was really flexible. He'd been doing the Wii Fit yoga stuff where you lay on the floor and stick your ass in the air and all that stuff, and apparently it had really improved his range of motion.

Finn reddened. He really did not care about Kurt's range of motion. He absolutely did not care about that.

He didn't.

"Brittany?" Burt asked suddenly. Finn was deeply grateful for this new distraction. "That cute cheerleader girl? What did she write?"

"She's delusional, Dad," Kurt sighed. "I can't believe I walked around all day with that… vulgarity inscribed on my leg."

"It's a pretty good dinosaur, though," Finn mumbled.

Carole looked up, but said nothing.

Kurt suddenly jumped. Oh, god. Finn did not need that. He really didn't need that… But it was just the friction. Just the goddamn friction—

He had a sudden, absolutely unwanted flashback to that time in celibacy club, when he had popped that balloon in front of everybody.

God in heaven help him, he was not going to pop Kurt Hummel like a balloon. Not here, in this waiting room, and in front of their _parents_, for god's sake-

"Finn, they're going to call me any second. Hurry up," Kurt cried.

"Will you sit still!" Finn rasped. "I can't… I can't write with you— doing that-"

Friction. Just friction! Friction friction friction friction friction FUCK!

He wanted to run. He wanted to run like hell and never look back. Life fucking sucked. Life wouldn't let him run, right now, when it was the only viable option.

And Kurt had to notice. He was a guy, too. He would know. He would notice... and oh, god, what could be worse than that-

"Kurt Hummel?" a voice asked from across the room. A nurse.

"Oh, boy, that's me. Just a second. Finn! Hurry up! Come on!" Kurt hissed.

_The sooner you write something the sooner he'll leave!_

"Okay, okay."

Finn uncapped the pen, thought for a second, and wrote as fast as he could,

"Hi Kurt well thanks for what you did ill never 4get it and i bet u wont either But now that the cast is off u can kick ass in chicaggo and all that jazz -Finn H."

He hesitated, and then drew a crooked smiley face.

It was friendly, funny, cordial, light-hearted. Perfect.

It was nothing even close to what he wanted to write, but Kurt seemed to like it. To adore it. He smiled as he read it, a deeply emotional and sentimental smile. He laid a friendly hand on Finn's shoulder.

Which he left there far longer than he should have. And which felt like a hot poker through Finn's entire body. He had the distinct impression that he would have felt much better about the entire situation if Kurt had suddenly just pulled out a gun and shot him.

"Thank you, Finn. I'll be right back," Kurt said huskily.

He and Burt went back together, and as soon as they were gone, Finn let out a shaky breath.

Which Carole completely picked up on.

"You okay, honey?" she asked as she turned the page on her copy of Ladies Home Journal.

"Yeah," Finn said immediately. He stood up.

"You sure?"

"Uh huh. I gotta, uh… go to the bathroom."

Without another word, he walked as fast as he could to the bathroom and locked the door. He didn't even turn on the light. God. No. No light. He couldn't look at himself or he'd scream.

He had to be quick, and he tried to be quiet. It should have been easy. He lived with his mom. Being silent was second nature to him now. Had been since he was nine. It should have been so damn easy, but a horrible sounding half moan, half whimper was out before he could stop himself. Everyone in the waiting room had to have heard it and known exactly what was going on in that damn public bathroom.

Oh, god, this was bad. This was bad. This was worse than… anything. Ever.

What the hell was he going to do?

He flushed the toilet, shaking and panting. He had to clean up… god. He had to clean up in the dark and he had to be quick. And most of all, he had to stop shaking. Splash some water on his face.

_Cool off. Look like you didn't just do what you did. _

It was impossible. He should have just stayed in that bathroom forever, but he knew his mom would be wondering about his abrupt departure. He had to look normal. He had to somehow look like nothing was happening.

He felt like he could have more easily found a cure for cancer in the toilet.

Somehow, he came out with a neutral-ish, mildly distressed expression on his face.

"You okay, honey?" Carole asked worriedly.

"Uh, yeah," Finn said in a voice that couldn't have been his, "Sorry. Today was… taco day at school. I… musta used too much hot sauce."

The nastiest, and yet most brilliant excuse ever. The fact that he had even come up with it was nothing short of a miracle. Carole gave him a sympathetic, yet utterly repulsed look and immediately dropped the subject. He was a fucking genius.

"Well… listen," Carole said, trying to change the subject, "Honey, I'm really proud of you, the way you've helped Kurt out these last few weeks. I know it must have been really hard."

Finn found himself having to stifle a giggle. Oh, boy. He had completely lost it, hadn't he? He had completely lost his mind. He didn't know who was inside him, keeping him alive and breathing and talking, but it wasn't Finn Hudson. It was like a robot, or a computer, who knew exactly what to say and how to say it, so it would look like he hadn't just run into a public bathroom to jerk off because of Kurt Hummel and his amazing way of doing everything in the entire world so, so well.

No, the thing inside of him wasn't Finn Hudson. Because Finn Hudson didn't do shit like that—

He needed to say something. He had been silent too long.

"It wasn't hard," the robot inside Finn said immediately. "I owed him."

Carole nodded.

"I know. But I also know, or at least have a pretty good idea, how... _abrasive_ he can be."

Dear fucking god! Did Carole know what she was saying? She couldn't. She couldn't have any idea.

"No, no," he shook his head, forcing a smile. "He was really cool."

Carole nodded slowly, turning the page again.

"Well, it was very brotherly of you."

Finn could have screamed. And as "All That Jazz" ran through his head again, and he could still feel Kurt's leg draped over his thighs, and his head still spun from the kind of climax he hadn't had in forever, that "brotherly" didn't describe his relationship with Kurt Hummel at all. It never had. And, after this, it never would.

That night, waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, he realized the songs going through his head were all in Kurt's voice.

He went to the bathroom to throw up, and hyperventilate, and sob into his only clean towel. The only towel that didn't smell like Kurt.

It was at that moment that he realized he had to put a stop to this shit before it killed him.


	5. Chapter 5

"Just slow down," Carole said. "Slow down, and take a breath, and tell me what happened."

Kurt, sitting cross-legged on the sofa(and damn, did it feel good to have his left leg back to its normal size, if not yet its normal color), felt a small pang in his chest as he heard Carole being such a mom to Finn.

He didn't show it, of course. He had become a master at not showing it.

And his whole attention quickly returned to Finn himself. Finn Hudson, panicked, wild-eyed, utterly freaking out. So primal. So damn manly, at least insofar as "manly" translated to "loud, violent and self-righteous". All three were emotions Finn presented very compellingly.

"They-They trashed our choir room," Finn began.

"Who is 'they'?"

"Vocal Adrenaline," Kurt said. "Our rivals. And they really did trash it, too. Bathroom tissue everywhere. It was a disaster. We spent our entire rehearsal period cleaning it up."

Which had been nothing short of torture.

"And they can't DO that to us!" Finn roared. "Because, because it's not even just US! It's every other team they've ever gone up against! So me and Puck-"

"Puck?" Carole said, taken aback.

"Yeah, Puck! We... you know, slashed their tires."

Carole gasped. Kurt had known about it beforehand, and felt nothing but sympathy for Finn. The poor fool. His heart had been in the right place, even if his sense of common decency wasn't.

Carole wasn't so sympathetic.

"I can't believe you would do something like that, Finn! I taught you better than that!" Carole cried. "Or at least I thought I did!"

Finn seemed to shrink before her, and shook his head.

"I'm… sorry, Mom."

"God, what happened then?"

Finn looked at the ceiling, bracing himself.

"They found out, and Principal Figgins wanted to expel us, but I told him, no, no. We'll pay for it. We'll pay for it. As if Vocal Adrenaline ever pays for any of the shit they pull-"

Kurt winced. Not the right approach at all. The boy just didn't know how to present an argument.

Carole was aghast.

"Jesus, Finn, how are you gonna pay for it? We haven't got that kind of money!"

"I know. I know. We're gonna get jobs. Somewhere."

"Get jobs? God, Finn... what were you thinking? What were you thinking? You act like some... delinquent. I just can't believe it."

Carole just sat down without another word.

Finn stared at her, mouth open. He clearly wanted to say something, but had no idea what to say.

He left the room.

And Kurt was torn.

Part of him wanted to leap (or slowly stand) up, run (or gingerly walk) after Finn, hold him, and tell him everything would be okay.

The other part of him wanted that first part to shut the hell up.

"Excuse me, Carole," he said softly, face reddening as he realized how obvious it was, what he was doing. He hoped against all reason that Carole would just think he was trying to be brotherly.

Damn, walking still hurt.

Finn was standing in the kitchen, fridge hanging open. He was standing at the counter, steak knife in hand, haphazardly slicing off a piece of Kurt's organic provolone.

"That's my cheese," Kurt said, blinking. "That cheese is four dollars a pound! You can't just-"

Finn looked up. His eyes were still full of wild, uncomprehending rage.

"I mean... go ahead," Kurt said, hands up innocently.

Finn banged around the kitchen, slamming drawers, slamming the fridge. It seemed as though he was finally on his way to making Chez Hummel his home.

He sat down at the table, angrily eating his sandwich and drinking his glass of Mountain Dew in silence.

Kurt, just as silently, came around the corner and began cleaning up. Finn had left cheese and bread crumbs all over the counter, ice cubes on the floor, and the mostly empty 2 liter of Mountain Dew sitting open on the table, with the cap nowhere in sight. The first stray breeze, and the pop would most likely spill all over the table and the floor.

Finn had been in the kitchen all of 3 minutes, and had managed to turn it into a minor disaster area.

Such a boy.

Finn wouldn't speak, or even look in Kurt's direction. He was leaned so far over the table that he was practically curled into a ball.

Kurt felt a pang. God, he felt bad for that poor boy. It was bad enough to have those iron boot-clad maniacs at Vocal Adrenaline suck the confidence and feeling of security right out of him like a vampire, but then to watch them not even get any form of comeuppance for their blatantly unsportsmanlike behavior? It was enough to send anybody into a seemingly endless spiraling depression. The entire situation was all so hopeless.

Oh, it was just masterful. Jesse had been absolutely right.

"They're demons," he said aloud. "Vocal Adrenaline, I mean. They got what was coming to them. My sympathy is all with you. And, I suppose, to a lesser degree, with Puck."

Finn didn't say anything. He didn't give any indication of having heard him.

"Anyway," Kurt said, trying to sound light and nonchalant, "You gave them something to think about. Maybe next time, they'll hesitate before they ruin another innocent glee club's lives."

Finn was still silent. Oh, boy, this might be more serious than Kurt had realized.

"Finn… listen, your mom will forgive you," Kurt said quietly. He was almost certain that the crushing weight of a disappointed mother was the main factor in Finn's depression.

He was just as certain that Finn would turn around any minute now, and smile at him. Or not smile. At least turn around.

Or move.

Or do something.

Anything.

The silence was heavy, and Kurt became well aware of the growing distance between them, both physically and emotionally. This was not the same kind, helpful, compassionate Finn who had been at Kurt's side for the last 3 weeks. This was someone completely different, someone angry and violent, and underneath it all, hurt.

And Kurt couldn't figure out how to get through. And, god, that was something that had never been hard to do at all. A few choice words, a sympathetic glance, and Finn Hudson's psyche was all his. At least, that was how it had been. Finn had been like a puppy who would come running across the room if you just looked at him.

He sighed, giving it one more shot.

"Finn," he said quietly, "I'll..."

He swallowed, turning back to the counter.

"I'll help you, if you want," he said quietly. "I'll help you find a job."

"I don't need your help," Finn snapped.

The sound of his voice was unexpected, and Kurt turned back to him, startled. His heart was in his throat.

"With… all due respect, it sounds like you do. Don't worry. We'll figure something out-"

Finn stood up. The chair slid backward across the floor, leaving a black streak on the tile.

"I said no," Finn said in a dangerous tone. "I don't need your help."

Kurt backed up against the counter, eyes wide with indignation, and a little fear.

"Well, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

Finn turned away, shaking with rage.

"I was just trying to-" Kurt said quietly.

"Shut up! God!" Finn yelled. "God! Just... you don't get it! You don't get it!"

"No, I certainly don't!" Kurt exclaimed. His shock was quickly turning into anger. "I mean, I offer to help, and you bite my head off."

"I don't need you to help me! God, I don't... I don't need you to come rescue me all the time!"

Kurt expelled a stunned breath.

"Once was enough," Finn said. "Okay? Once was enough."

"You... idiot! This is nothing like that!" Kurt cried.

"Yes, it is! Yes, it is! And do have any idea how-"

Kurt closed his eyes.

_This was not really going to happen._

"No," Kurt snapped, his voice shaking. "No. No. We're not having another one of these. We're not having another one of these screaming fights, where you say something horrible, something unforgivable, that you'll never be able to take back. We're not doing it again, Finn! Alright? We're not! We are past that. Both of us."

"Screw you!" Finn roared.

"Screw you!" Kurt roared back. "Screw you for being so damned insecure! That's all this is! I save your life, I offer to help you find a job, and now you think you're... what is it, less of a man? Going to catch my gay?"

Finn paled.

"Shut the hell up, Kurt." Finn whispered. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course I do! You're afraid of guilt by association. You think I haven't seen that before? You think I don't still see it, even now? You're such an idiot, Finn!"

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Yes, I do. And it hurts," Kurt said, through developing tears. "It hurts like hell… but I know that you only feel that way because you're emotionally three years old. I just hope, maybe when you get a little older, you'll figure out what a moron you were."

"Goddammit… I already know what a moron I am!"

"Well, good! That's certainly a start!"

Kurt turned back toward the counter, squeezing out two uncontrollable streams of tears. For a few minutes, the only sound in the house was the sound of his ragged breathing, punctuated by his heart slamming in his eardrums.

And then, the sound of the chair being violently shoved back in. Or kicked over. Or something. Kurt didn't care. He absolutely didn't care. He most decidedly, definitely did not care-

"God… stop crying," Finn said in a rough, gravelly tone that could have conveyed any of several emotions.

"Don't tell me what to do."

A long pause, and then a half-breathed,

"You don't understand."

Kurt rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I'm telling you. You don't understand," Finn repeated.

"Well, then, maybe you'd better explain," Kurt said.

A single heartbeat, and he felt Finn moving in behind him.

_Oh my god. He's actually going to explain._

"You're right," Finn said. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I am afraid."

"I know-"

"I'm afraid of… how much you and all your... shit, is starting to matter to me."

"All my shit," Kurt scoffed. "All what shit?"

"Your shit! Your... music! Your voice! Just... you! Everything about you!"

Kurt felt as though someone had hit him upside the head with a frying pan. Slowly, he turned around so that he was looking into Finn's eyes.

"What the hell are you saying?" he demanded in a whisper. Terrified of being hurt. And being hurt in this situation, if this situation was what he thought it was, was an inevitability.


	6. Chapter 6

Finn stepped close to him. Closer than was appropriate for two semi-stepbrothers standing in their kitchen. Too close.

"You remember when we kissed," Finn said. A statement, not a question.

"…Vaguely," Kurt said, his mouth suddenly dry. He couldn't meet Finn's eyes anymore. "I was... under the influence of opiates and muscle relaxants at the time…"

He was lying. God, of course he was lying. The kiss with Finn Hudson? The culmination of every romantic dream he had ever had? He remembered every detail. He doubted he'd ever forget. The awkwardness, the anger, but above all else, the fact that it had been such a letdown.

He knew that Finn hadn't kissed him for any other reason than that he was confused about his feelings, confused about their situation, and fumbling with a way to show his gratitude.

He knew that Finn would have most likely kissed anyone-

"You asked if I would have kissed anyone who did what you did."

A chill ran down Kurt's spine.

"…And you said no," Kurt said quietly.

_And it was a lie._

"...I meant it."

Kurt was grateful for the counter behind him. It, and nothing else, kept him standing.

"I don't understand..." he whispered.

Finn snarled, grasping at invisible straws above him, much the same way he had when he had discovered Puck was the father of Quinn's baby.

"I kissed you!" he spat, "I wouldn't have kissed anyone else!"

"Any other guy, you mean," Kurt said angrily, but immediately regretted it, because some part of him was aware that this went much more deeply than that.

Finn shook his head, all at once eerily calm.

"Or a lot of girls, even. Probably most girls, actually. Unless it was to shut them up or something."

Kurt was not hearing this. _He wasn't hearing this._

And he had to ask it. Even if it killed him, even if it destroyed him, he had to ask it.

"…Did you just kiss me to shut me up?"

"No."

The answer was automatic, and not defensive at all. It was just… Simple. Honest.

_Honest._

Kurt swallowed. It was all he could remember how to do.

"Finn, what are you saying?" he managed to rasp.

Finn took a deep breath, braced himself, and closed his eyes.

"I'm saying I want my life back." He didn't give Kurt a chance to say anything, "No. God. Don't talk. I want you out of my head. I want to stop feeling all this… shit about you all the time! I want to stop... waking up in the middle of the night hearing your voice. I want my brain back. I want my... heart back... Oh, god, Kurt, don't cry. Seriously."

He reached out a shaky hand, with which he cupped Kurt's cheek. Kurt closed his eyes, feeling faint. God, this was real. This was real, and Finn was…

He couldn't let it end. He _couldn't_.

"It's just... you have no idea what you're _doing_ to me," Finn whispered, and god, he was so wounded and so damaged and so flawed. Kurt couldn't imagine how he could ever love anyone more than he loved Finn at this moment.

"I think I have some idea," Kurt mumbled.

Finn was quiet.

"I swear, I just can't stand it. I can't…"

Kurt _couldn't let it end._

He was crazy. They both were. Finn was just as crazy, Kurt knew. Finn wanted Kurt now just as much as Kurt had ever wanted Finn. How that was possible, Kurt did not know.

He didn't care. About anything.

They were right there, in the kitchen, for god's sake. Carole could walk in at any moment. The windows were open. It was broad daylight. Anyone could see them. Anyone could look right in and find out and—

Kurt, quite roughly and a bit clumsily, launched himself upward and, in one swift motion, wrapped his forearms around the back of Finn's neck, dragging the significantly taller boy down to his level.

"God, no," Finn murmured, "God, I can't do this."

But his body didn't protest. Far from it.

They came together into the kind of kiss that could make the angels scream. Crying, gasping, hissing, groaning. Fumbling together in broad daylight, before god and all.

Such exquisite misery. Such bitter bliss.

Oh, yes. Kurt knew how Finn felt. If he hadn't known before, he certainly knew now. And now, he wasn't sure how the human body was able to contain so much emotion without self-destructing.

"Shit... god. Kurt..."

"I know," Kurt broke the kiss and whispered, before leaning in for another one, which Finn almost desperately acquiesced to. "Oh, god, I know."

God, they were a mess. They were such a _mess_-

"No," Finn said, breaking the second kiss before going back for a third, which he broke just as quickly. "God, no. I can't!"

"Shh," Kurt closed his eyes.

"I can't!"

He wasn't prepared for the shove. He opened his eyes, shocked. Finn had broken away, and was backing up, shaking his head.

"Oh, god, Kurt. I can't. I can't. I can't."

"Finn, it's okay-"

"No! God! I just… I can't stand it. I can't even look at you! God! You have no right to do this shit to me, Kurt. No right!"

Kurt looked down.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry-"

"Just… leave me the hell alone! Don't talk to me! Don't look at me, Kurt, or so help me..."

In another second, he was gone.

And Kurt realized what he had done. He had just lost Finn Hudson.


	7. Chapter 7

When Finn woke up at 8:54 am, the room was eerily, almost deathly quiet and bright.

And empty, he realized upon sitting up. Across the room, there was Kurt's bed, neatly made and long abandoned.

Kurt hadn't woken him up. He hadn't said a word, hadn't turned on the radio or TV, hadn't even played "Single Ladies" on his iPod like he would occasionally do when he was in a playful mood, which he frequently was, immediately upon waking.

And, Finn realized today, that without that activity to jolt him out of slumber, he wouldn't wake up. Absolutely great.

How the hell had he ever woken up when he had his own room?

He momentarily considered saying fuck it all, and going back to sleep until 4 like he wanted to. His dreams had been absolutely unendurable, and his entire body ached from tossing and turning. Not to mention, he figured he had slept about fifteen minutes all told. How he had even managed to sleep that long, in the same room as Kurt, after _that_, was beyond him.

He desperately wanted some uninterrupted sleep.

But he remembered with a start that Principal Figgins had told him yesterday that, in addition to paying for Vocal Adrenaline's tires, he also had to do detention every day for a week to make up for that one day he had skipped. Today was the first day of that, and if he missed it, he'd really be up shit creek.

So Finn reluctantly leapt out of bed, grabbing the first pair of pants and shirt he could find, and ran up the stairs.

"Hey, Finn," Burt said to him, just as casually as if Finn wasn't already an hour and a half late to school.

"Hey... um…"

"Kurt's at school, where you should be," Burt said, answering Finn's unaskable question. "He drove himself."

"He took the car?" Finn asked incredulously.

"It's his car," Burt said. "Doctor said he can drive to school. He left in a hell of a hurry, too. Guess he was pretty anxious to get back behind the wheel."

_Oh, yeah, that had to be it._

Finn scratched the back of his head.

"Uh... crap-"

"You need a ride?" Burt asked. "Yeah, hey, hold on a sec, I'll give you a ride."

"Okay. Thanks," Finn said, blinking. God, the house was bright at that time of the day.

Burt had his keys in hand, and the two men climbed into Burt's black Ford F150.

"Thanks," Finn said again, awkwardly.

"Rough night?" Burt asked casually.

God. No. Burt couldn't know. He couldn't know. Finn could not live in the same house as—

"Your mom told me you're looking for a job," Burt said mildly.

Oh. God.

"Uh, yeah. This... thing... happened…" Finn tried to brush it off.

"Well, you know... I can't imagine I couldn't find something for you to do down at the garage. You know... couldn't pay you a mint, but it'd be a start."

Finn had a headache. No, not just a headache. The pulsing, throbbing headache from hell. That metallic taste was stronger than ever, and the same lines from Chicago kept running through his mind, in Kurt's voice, of course:

_"But it's good, isn't it grand, isn't it great, isn't it swell, isn't it fun, isn't it? But nothing stays..."_

Goddammit.

"So, uh..." Burt shifted uncomfortably, bringing Finn back down to earth.

"Oh! The… garage, uh… god, uh... no, no, I couldn't," Finn said.

"Why not?" Burt asked.

There was a word for this. Rachel would know it. Of course fucking _Kurt_ would know it. Finn did not know it.

Instead, he fumbled with,

"That's really nice of you, but... I really want to do this myself."

"Hey, you know, I respect that, but let's be sensible. In this economy? You're gonna be washing the floors at McDonald's. Overnight."

"Oh, no," Finn shook his head, "I already applied at McDonald's. They didn't want me. I failed their placement test."

Burt looked horrified, and Finn cringed.

"Um, but, I mean, I..."

"Well, you need anything, you just let me know, okay?" Burt said as they pulled up to the school. "I mean it. Anything."

Finn closed his eyes and knew that he couldn't bring himself to call Burt Hummel for help, even if his head fell off, which it felt like it very well might.

"Thanks, Mr. Hummel," he said softly.

Third period came before lunch, and was Finn and Kurt's first class together during the day. Kurt couldn't even imagine that Finn would show up.

Kurt sat in his usual spot, immaculately attired, looking damn adorable despite everything, if he did say so himself. He was in the middle of trying to discuss their respective parts in the musical with Artie.

"God, though, I'm so depressed," Artie said suddenly.

"I hear that," Kurt sighed.

When Finn walked in, Kurt barely looked up, though he couldn't pretend a surge of adrenaline didn't rush through his body.

Artie totally noticed, too. That was the hell of it. Artie completely noticed.

Finn looked half-dead. If his tossing and turning had been any indication, he hadn't slept a wink. Kurt had eventually realized, around 1:30 am, that he was going to scream if he spent one more second in that room, and had quietly crept upstairs to sleep on the couch.

Consequently, he hadn't seen Finn in the morning. Hadn't offered him a ride. Hadn't had a chance to. Had been relieved.

He wasn't even sure how Finn had made it to school, but he decided not to care.

But, goddammit, Finn was so close. It was one of those times Kurt utterly hated himself for so eagerly having chosen the seat behind Finn Hudson at the start of the semester. Why had he done that again?

Oh, of course. To stare at Finn's ass whenever Finn got up to sharpen his pencil.

Fuck.

Finn sat down without another word, or so much as a glance backward. He pulled his book out of his backpack and leaned as far forward as he could.

Kurt, inversely, leaned as far back as he could.

Artie shot the two of them a look that said "what the hell, you guys?" clearer than any words could.

Lunch came too soon, and Kurt realized only too late that walking without the crutches was painful and difficult. His foot screamed with pain when he was only halfway down the hall, and he trailed behind all the other kids, including Artie, who was hell on wheels when it was lunchtime.

It would be up to Kurt to stand in line and get his own lunch, he figured. Not a big deal at all, or at least it shouldn't have been, but it annoyed him when he realized how nice it had been to have Finn get his lunch for him. Even if the concept of "dressing on the side" was completely alien to him, it had been damned nice to be able to sit down, relax, shoot the bull with Mercedes, and know that he had a decent and loyal friend in Finn Hudson.

"God, what a jerk," Kurt snapped now, as he took an especially painful step.


	8. Chapter 8

Finn sat as far away from Kurt as he could at lunch. He felt like the world's biggest asshole as he did it, but he just couldn't look at him. He just couldn't face Kurt, because to face Kurt would be to face IT, whatever IT even was.

He couldn't believe he had said all those things to Kurt yesterday. He couldn't believe he had touched Kurt's face, and let Kurt kiss him. And had kissed him back.

Was he absolutely insane? He had to have been. He had to have been.

Now, in the clear light of day, he had to decide if any of it had been real, or if Kurt had been right, that Finn was just afraid he'd, as Kurt had put it, "catch his gay". Which it would seem that he had, except that he knew that wasn't possible. Gay wasn't like mono.

He had a decided feeling that he was not remotely smart or informed enough to be thinking about this crap, but there was really no one he could ask for help without admitting his problem... and anyway, he was the one who had to deal with it, whatever it was.

The facts. He'd start with the facts, and go from there.

Fact number one: He and Kurt had been kinda-sorta friends before.

Fact number two: Kurt had obviously liked him. And only him.

Fact number three: Living with Kurt sucked at first.

Fact number four: It got better.

Fact number five: Then it sucked again.

Fact number six: Kurt saved him from being killed by that damn "everything else" set with the awesome door.

Fact number seven: That made Finn feel weird.

Fact number eight: He continued to feel weird. Then Chicago happened, and he felt even weirder. There had been kissing.

Fact number nine: The kissing had been... amazing.

Fact number ten: He couldn't get Kurt out of his mind, even when he was asleep. Especially not when he was asleep.

Fact number eleven: He had never felt this way about any girl. Not Rachel. Not Santana. Not even Quinn.

Fact number twelve: He didn't like any other dudes.

Fact number thirteen: Oreos are good.

He stopped. He had everything. All the facts. Now, the question, at least for numbers 7-12 was, why?

Why did Kurt make him feel weird? Why hadn't he ever felt this way about anyone else? Why had they kissed? Twice?

Kurt's question came back to him. It was a good question which also deserved an answer:

Would he have felt this way if it had been anyone else there who had saved his ass? If, for example, it had been Mercedes, would he be sitting here right now wishing she'd just get out of his head?

How about Brittany? Would he be sitting here right now, trying to wash the taste of Brittany out of his mouth, if it had been her?

Or Puck?

Yeah. Puck!

Puck was a good one. He and Puck had a longer and more complicated history than he and Kurt could ever have. Puck had betrayed him, ruined his life, and ruined Quinn's life. That they were even close to reconciliation was nothing short of a miracle, and it would take a good deal more time before they could say they were friends again.

How about if Puck had been the one to save him?

Would he be hearing Puck's voice ringing in his ears? Would he be waking up in the middle of the night, wanting to scream at Puck to just shut up and leave him alone?

...How could he answer that?

He couldn't.

He sighed, and the girl sitting across from him looked at him strangely, but said nothing.

He was just fucked. That was all there was to it. He was totally fucked.

"Hey, Finn," Mr. Schue suddenly said from somewhere above him. "I wanted to let you know something."

"Hi, Mr. Schue," Finn mumbled. "What's up?"

"Well, I know you and Puck are looking for a job. I think I might have an idea."

"God, Mr. Schue, please don't tell me to ask Kurt's dad."

Schue frowned.

"I... wasn't. No, I was going to say... my, uh... ex-wife, Terri, works at Sheets and Things in the mall. They're always looking for help. Really high turnover rate there. Even higher than McDonald's. And, uh, I have a pretty good idea they're not real picky."

"Really?" Finn said. The inherent awkwardness of Schue telling Finn to go work in a girly store with his ex-wife took a backseat to the fact that he might have had an actual chance at getting that damn job after all.

"Yeah. You know where I mean, right?"

"Yeah, across from Breadstix. I mean... one of the Breadstix. I know where you mean."

"Check it out. I mean, I know it sucks, but it's better than nothing, right?" Schue asked.

"It sure is," Finn said thoughtfully. "Thanks, Mr. Schue!"

Schue nodded. Hesitated.

_God, just say it, Mr. Schue._

He did.

"Hey, uh... did something happen with you and Kurt? It's probably none of my business, but I notice you're not sitting together."

Finn sighed.

"I'll, uh... let you know when I figure that out."

"Alright. Yeah, hey, let me know about the job!"

"Thanks," Finn sighed.

So, now he was less fucked. That was something, anyway.

Glee/Play Rehearsal. Less than a week to go before Nationals.

Dear god, Kurt wanted to go home.

The doctor had told him how much it might hurt, but had he listened? Had he believed the doctor? Of course not. Did he need Ibuprofen? Perish the thought.

He sat down and never wanted to get back up.

There was that empty seat next to him. That empty seat where Finn had sat for the last three weeks.

Would he-

Kurt's question was answered, as an eager Brittany took the seat.

"Hey, Kurt," she said, her eyes wide and excited and empty as ever.

"Hello, Brittany," Kurt said. He was surprisingly glad to see her. Brittany may not have been the best company, but he could certainly count on her not to stir up any drama. Maybe a little Brittany time was just what he needed.

They sat in companionable silence until Schue came in, and announced to them all, including a very nervous Jesse and a very distant Finn, what their assignment was for the week.

Funk.

After Puck had made an exceptionally disgusting joke about personal hygiene, Schue told them that Vocal Adrenaline did indeed have a weakness:

Funk.

Kurt cringed. Well, he could see why it was their weakness. It was terrible. No self-respecting musician would bother with such tripe.

Rachel looked at Jesse to determine if it was true, and Jesse had, with a sigh, confirmed.

"We tried to do the theme from Shaft, and ended up doing Meat Loaf's classic 'Bat Out of Hell'. None of us were even sure how it happened."

Kurt and Brittany exchanged looks.

Much as he hated to admit it, Rachel had had a point long ago when she had declared that Glee Club is not Crunk Club.

Still, if it was only one assignment, he could probably handle it. He'd just sway in the back.

Mercedes announced that she had this one in the bag, and Kurt smiled at his plucky best friend. It was true, if anyone could make funk sound good, it was Mercedes.

Quinn, however, seemed left out.

"Wait a minute, Mr. Schue. I want a chance to get funky, too."

Kurt couldn't help laughing, but nowhere near as loudly as Mercedes did. She found the entire thing utterly hilarious, much to Quinn's irritation.

"Good one, Quinn," Mercedes giggled. "It even sounds funny when you say it."

"I was serious. Funk is all about anger, right? I have plenty to be angry about. Look at my life!"

Kurt could feel Finn shifting in his seat. He willed himself not to turn around.

Meanwhile, Mercedes shot Quinn a sympathetic look, but said,

"When white people try to do funk, you end up with KC and the Sunshine Band."

"I love 'Boogie Shoes'!" Artie interjected.

Schue took that opportunity to break them up:

"Alright, guys, don't worry, we'll all have a chance to get funky. All of us. Especially Quinn. Right now, though, let's split up. Play people, downstairs, everyone else, up here."

Kurt groaned. God. What he wouldn't have given to stay right where he was.

"Kurt, listen," Mr. Schue suddenly said, "I know it's short notice, but I talked to Tina, and she said she's not sure, but she'll probably be able to take over for you on Thursday. Is that okay?"

Kurt nodded to Tina, who looked a little uncertain and overwhelmed, but willing.

"I'd be honored, Mr. Schue. I think Tina will do a fantastic job."

Tina smiled shyly, and looked to Artie, who gave her a big, loving smile of support.

Schue nodded and clapped his hands.

"Great. Alright, guys, hustle! We haven't got all day!"


	9. Chapter 9

Sheets and Things was hell.

Hell.

After his first day, Finn wanted to jump off a bridge.

Working on a school night was bad enough, but working on a school night with those insane people, those asshole customers, and not even knowing how to fold a sham?

Hell.

He wasn't even telling himself "at least it's a job" anymore. He had stopped that nonsense after about two hours. He was now convinced that he'd rather dig a ditch; at least doing that, you can hit something.

Puck being there didn't help matters. Puck had spent at least 50 minutes out of every hour talking to hot MILFs, of which the store seemed to have an unending supply, and thus doing nothing useful.

"Dude, I'm cementing good customer relations," Puck had said as they left the store that first night. "And with as desperate as some of those chicks were, I'll probably be doing a lot more cementing, if you catch my drift."

"Yeah," Finn sighed. "I got that."

"Mrs. Ex-Schue creeps me out, though."

"Terri?" Finn asked. "I thought she was kind of cool."

Puck shrugged.

"Kind of _Hand That Rocks the Cradle_, if that's your thing."

Finn said nothing. Puck was his ride, and he didn't want to do anything to stir up any more drama in his life.

"Man, I was pissed, though," Puck said as they got in the car. "That shitty role in the play? You told me I was boning Rachel."

Finn shrugged.

"You're married to her."

"We don't bone. We're not even in the same scene. Seriously. I finally read the stupid thing the other day when Mr. Schue told us we couldn't use the scripts during the performance, and we're not even in the same scene. Oh, except for like, 2 seconds at the end, when she blows me off."

Finn raised an eyebrow.

"And I don't mean my dick," Puck finished.

"I didn't know that," Finn lied. Of course he knew it. How many times had he and Kurt watched the movie in the last few weeks? A lot. Not to mention the other stage recordings. They'd even found a bootleg on YouTube, recorded on someone's cellphone.

Finn knew _Chicago _better than he knew Lima.

But Puck didn't need to know that.

"Yeah, well, it sucks," Puck growled. "The guy I play is such a weenie ass douche. All he does is whine. You really would have been much better at this shit than me."

"Wow, thanks," Finn said irritably.

"I can't help the fact that you whine better than me."

Finn rolled his window down all the way, and leaned his elbow out the door. Something Kurt never let him do, because he didn't want his hair to be wind damaged.

It felt nice.

Puck wasn't done.

"Anyway, god, man, I figured at least we'd get a scene where we make out or something. But no. Nothing. I mean, god, no wonder she cheated on him with that Fred dude. Married to a fine piece of ass like her, and the dumb douche I play works until midnight every night? Bullshit, man."

"It's probably a good thing that you guys don't have to make out," Finn said, surprising even himself. "Jesse, you know."

"Whatever. I feel like that Jesse kid is gonna bail on us any day now," Puck scoffed. "Run on back to Vocal Adrenaline. You can tell he wants to."

Finn said nothing. He kind of felt that way, too.

Puck continued,

"Serve his ass right if he did, and I was up there on stage fucking his woman in front of everybody. That's why my part in the play sucks, man! You sure you don't want to trade back?"

Finn sighed. He hadn't had a conversation like this with Puck in a long time, but he had indeed had many a conversation like this with Puck in his day. How was it possible that fathering a baby hadn't changed him at all? Such a major life change, with another person, and he was exactly the same. Puck gave no evidence of waking up in the middle of the night with Quinn's voice in his head. She was the mother of his child, for god's sake.

Finn almost wondered if there was something wrong with him. If Puck was normal, and Finn was just... messed up.

"No, I don't want to trade back. See if you can trade with whoever plays Fred. Who is it, Matt?"

"Man, I know, but I already spent all damn week learning that stupid song. Plus, they cut all of Matt's lines."

That stupid song. "Mr. Cellophane".

"Anyway, Schue said all the sex happens offstage. Which is also bullshit."

"Sucks," Finn said.

"Anyway, man, I don't even know why I'm talking about this shit with you," Puck said in a dismissive tone. "Since you switched teams and everything. Not like I didn't see it coming."

Finn closed his eyes. If there was one thing he didn't need, it was this.

"Dude, back off," he snapped.

"I'm just saying! I totally saw it coming. I don't even care, dude."

"You have no idea what's going on, so just shut your fucking face," Finn said as calmly as he could.

"Alright, dude, I'm just saying. I don't even care."

Silence.

"I seriously don't. I don't care," Puck repeated.

Puck paused.

"I just wonder how you do it with both your parents home."

Kurt told himself he wasn't going to wait up for Finn, and as far as Finn would be concerned, he didn't.

When Finn finally stumbled in the door well after one AM, Kurt had the lights off, and was curled under the covers.

He heard every step. He heard that exhausted sigh when Finn plopped down on the bed without even getting undressed. And then he didn't hear anything.

God, he missed him.

Friday. Tensions were running high.

Glee/Play rehearsals.

"Honestly, as much as I love this play, I can't wait until it's over," Mercedes, who was busting down the walls as Matron Mama Morton onstage, and doing the majority of the costume sewing backstage, groaned.

Kurt sympathized. His energy levels were all over the place; his mood swings were more sporadic than a menopausal mother of six, mostly finding a middle ground in "depressed as hell".

He had shown up to Glee with puffy eyes. He never did that.

Worse, he had worn the same outfit twice that week.

He absolutely, positively never did that.

If only he could blame his funk on Vocal Adrenaline like the others.

Finn had fallen asleep in his chair.

Schue was in full-on teacher mode, despite looking rather frazzled himself.

"Alright, guys, we're gonna have a late day, so make sure and let your ride know now to pick you up around 6:30 or 7... Yes, Brittany?"

Kurt glanced over at Brittany, who had her hand in the air, to everyone's surprise.

"Mr. Schue?" she asked, her hand still up.

"Yes, Brittany. Put your hand down."

"Okay."

"What was your question?"

"It's not a question," Brittany said coyly, eyes on Kurt.

Eyes on... _Kurt_.

_Oh, god. What did she want._

"What is it, Brittany?" Schue asked irritably.

"Oh. Well, Me, Mike, and Matt did a Funk song," she said, still looking at Kurt as though she wanted to devour him. "And we want to sing it. Like, now."

The other kids whispered amongst each other, and Santana shot Brittany a stunned look.

"Really?" Schue asked, just as surprised. "Well, man! Go ahead, you guys! That's great! Let's hear it!"

Kurt couldn't pretend not to be absolutely fascinated with Brittany as she sauntered to the front of the class, with Mike and Matt following closely behind her.

"I'd like to dedicate this song to someone very special," she said, blowing a kiss at... _oh, god. Oh, no._

"Kurt Hummel," she purred.

Somehow, this woke Finn up.

"Um, great," Schue said, smiling nervously. "Go ahead."

A moment longer, and the jazz band had launched into a rollicking rendition of "Midnight Train to Georgia" by Gladys Knight and the Pips.

Brittany launched the song on a sour note, and Kurt cringed. Her singing cadence was off, too, but almost as quickly as she realized she had messed up, after Mike and Matt's pitch-perfect,

"He said he's goin!"

She seemed to pick up the rhythm, and by the time the absurd gravity and physics-defying dance routine began, Kurt found that he was utterly spellbound by her.

In the entire time he had known Brittany, he had never heard her sing a solo. In fact, he had never really heard her sing at all. Rachel had discovered that she, along with Quinn, Santana and Finn hadn't even been singing most of the time, so this didn't surprise him. Brittany had also complained of there being too many lyrics on a number of occasions.

Yet, there she was, up there, singing her insipid little heart out.

And, Kurt realized with a start, she wasn't bad.

She was certainly no Rachel, or Mercedes, or, well, him. She wasn't even any Quinn.

But she kept on key most of the time, and her dancing was more than enough to compensate for her less-than-impeccable vocals.

She even did a nice little growly thing every so often that was probably giving all the straight guys in the room something to think about.

As for Kurt, he couldn't help smiling at her, his brainless little songstress, up there, showing the room what funk was about, in her own unique way.

For a fleeting second, he almost felt bad that she couldn't do Velma for him when he was gone. She'd destroy the vocals, and not in a good way, but she could and would dance the ever-loving shit out of those routines if given the chance.

When the song ended, the kids erupted in surprised and pleased applause. Brittany grinned, directly at Kurt, and mouthed something Kurt didn't pick up, but which ended in the word "you". He decided he didn't need to know the rest.

"Brittany, Mike, Matt, that was... wow!" Schue cried. "See, guys, now, that's how you break out of a funk, huh? Whoo!"

"Thanks, Mr. Schue," Brittany said quietly, still grinning at Kurt. She flounced back to her seat, followed by Mike and Matt, who gave high-fives to Puck as they passed him.

"Well, Brittany, that was very impressive," Kurt said to her as she slowly smoothed her skirt down over her muscular derriere before she sat down.

"Thanks, Kurt. I did it for you," she said breathlessly.

"I... know, Brittany. You said that. Thank you."

Brittany looked down, directly at Kurt's lap. She seemed disappointed by something, but quickly looked back up.

"Oh yeah. Me and Santana are going to a party tonight. You need to come."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Brittany..." Kurt hesitated, not sure how to say what he needed to say. He finally settled on a benign, "Other people will be there, too, right?"

"Yeah," Brittany said.

"And... we'll all be wearing clothes, right?"

"Well..." Brittany frowned, "You don't have to if you don't want to, Kurt. I mean, I don't mind. It's up to you."

"No, no, I will. I will."

"You can sit in the bathtub, if you want," Brittany said.

"No, that's fine."

"So, you're coming?"

"Yes. I'm coming."

Brittany's joy could hardly be contained.

Finn had gone back to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Preparing for another day in Hell.

But first, Finn had to wait for Puck to get done not-boning-Rachel, so he could give Finn a ride to work.

He waited outside the auditorium door, preferring that to actually going inside and having to see it.

Or, rather, see _him_.

But, god, could he hear him. And, god, was Kurt Hummel laying waste to those songs. In a good way. In SUCH a good way.

Goddammit.

And was he surprised to learn that withdrawal from Kurt Hummel was worse than withdrawal from Vitamin D?

Not remotely.

And was he surprised at that very moment, to learn that all it took was hearing that insane voice, at times husky and masculine, at other times lilting and feminine, to give him an adrenaline rush like the kind he got on the football field on those rarest of times when the team did something right?

Nope.

And did he expect to be able to concentrate on his stupid damn job that night for any amount of time before his mind wandered back to what he was hearing right now?

Not a chance.

God, he had to see him. He had to see him.

It was driving him insane. _He_ was driving him insane.

The night before, when Finn had finally gotten home, Kurt had been asleep; the room dark. He had collapsed on his bed in utter exhaustion, ready to sleep the soundest sleep he'd had in weeks.

Instead, he found his thoughts returning to that damn voice. And the things he had said to add such an edge to it. He hadn't slept a wink, but had kept perfectly still. _Maybe if he kept perfectly still, he wouldn't scream._

Now, did that edge come out in Kurt's singing? He put his ear against the door, but couldn't tell.

He opened the door a crack. An echoing, resounding wall of sound launched itself at his psyche. Yeah, that damn voice again.

_Fuck him, for having so much power_, Finn thought as he stepped through the door.

He was just waiting for Puck, after all. Just waiting for Puck.

It wasn't a dress rehearsal or anything. Everyone was just in their plain clothes, but it didn't matter. He walked into that auditorium, and he knew that up on that stage, they were as engrossed in the story and the atmosphere and everything that came with it as he had been, back before he ruined everything.

Though, as he watched them up there, he did find some consolation in the realization that he had only ruined everything inside his own mind. Because out there, everything was just as it should have been. It was absolutely perfect.

"Dude," Puck was saying, from out in the hallway, "Where the hell you been? We gotta get our asses to work."

"I know," Finn said.

He was not going to cry, goddammit. He was not going to stand there in the auditorium watching what really still only amounted to a bunch of teenage losers putting on some crappy play, and cry about it. He just wasn't.

"I know," Finn repeated. "Let's go."

As the door closed behind him, he wanted to throw up.

Tina, to her credit, was doing one hell of a job learning the steps and the lyrics. But there was one thing she couldn't fake, Kurt realized as he sat back and watched her, and that was the enthusiasm. When Tina sang the songs, that was all she was doing. Singing. When she danced the steps, all she did was dance. She needed to _perform. _He stopped her for the fourth time, and was met with irritated glares from the entire cast, save for Tina, who just looked humiliated, and Rachel, who looked relieved. She had obviously wanted to say something, too.

"Tina, honey," Kurt said impatiently, "You're so much more talented than this! You can do anything! Come on, feel it! Really feel it!"

"I know. I know," she said.

"Feel it!"

She started again. "Cell Block Tango". They had had to cut most of the other girls' lines from the song, and censor the choreography and costumes, because Principal Figgins had refused to let them do an entire number with girls (and Kurt) writhing about in their underwear singing about the ways in which they had murdered their men.

The play was going to be a _disaster, _it really was. But at the very least, they could do the best they could with what little they had.

Tina's lines had been cut down to a calm, innocent explanation of how she had most definitely not murdered her sister and husband, but oh, god, where was the _nuance?_ The indignation?

The _anger!_

"Stop!" Kurt yelled. "Tina! Stop! God-"

"That sounded fine," Quinn said, raising an eyebrow. She had been assigned a dual role of Katalin Helinski for this number, in which she had no lines, and basically just stood there and looked pretty. And twirled a lot.

"It did not sound fine!" Kurt cried. "Tina, you're _innocent_, but you're really not, okay? That son of a bitch did you wrong! He broke your heart! He destroyed you! You are angry at him! Okay? ANGRY!"

"Well, god, Kurt, I'm sorry!" Tina snapped. "I guess I just can't be as angry as you!"

"Yes! Like that! Only with more rage!"

"Guys, let's take five," Rachel said, stepping into her de facto role as assistant director. "Okay?"

She locked her eyes on Kurt.

"Okay?" she repeated.

"Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Fine."

"Damn, Kurt, calm down," Mercedes said, approaching him carefully.

Kurt realized that he was panting, sweaty and scarlet-faced. He hobbled over to the edge of the stage and sat down. Mercedes followed him.

"Kurt, baby, Tina's doing the best she can. She's not used to all this drama. Literally."

Kurt shook his head.

"I'm... sorry."

"I wish you'd just tell me what the hell happened with you and Finn. I know that's what all this is about."

"It's not a big deal. I just… really want this play to be decent."

Mercedes scoffed.

"It's really not a big deal," Kurt said.

"I can tell. You know he's not worth all this bullshit. You _know_ that."

He looked at her.

All of a sudden, he couldn't wait for that party. At least he figured that would take his mind off Finn Hudson.

The entire ride to the party, which apparently had been scheduled to begin literally just as soon as Brittany and Santana arrived, a la Ke$ha, was one long awkward avoiding-eye-contact-with-brittany-while-keeping-eyes-on-the-road-fest for Kurt, who had been appointed to be the girls' designated driver/chauffeur. "Yeah. Turn up here," Santana said. She had appointed herself to the position of giving sketchy and occasionally inaccurate directions from her spot in the backseat.

"Which way, Santana?" Kurt asked irritably.

"Left."

"Are you sure?"

She didn't answer, and he sighed loudly and turned left.

Brittany, meanwhile, spent most of the trip on the phone, occasionally with Santana, who had to remind her on more than one occasion that she was right there in the backseat. The rest of the time, Brittany was apparently talking to her cat. On the phone. Somehow.

"Yeah, it's this third house," Santana said, pointing at a yellow house with several cars already parked in front of it.

"Not to be a spoil-sport, but who all is going to be at this party?" Kurt asked.

"The cool people," Santana said simply.

"Will I know anybody?" Kurt asked dully.

"No."

Well, at least she was honest.

Santana, as it turned out, had been absolutely wrong. Kurt did indeed know quite a few of the partygoers. He recognized one of the guys who had been there that time that Finn, Puck and their Neanderthal former friends had smeared Kurt's front door with peanut butter. There were a few buffoons from the hockey team, all of Kurt's least favorite fellow Cheerios, and a few other people who he couldn't even bring himself to remember, but he knew were insufferable assholes.

"This might not be such a good idea," he whispered to Brittany. "I have a list at home, of people whose good names I intend to destroy as soon as I make it big. Most of the people here are on it."

"Just stick with me," Brittany said with a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine."

And Brittany, showing the mark of a good semi-hostess, spent most of the evening at his side, and took great pride in introducing him to everyone as her "squishy boy".

And with Brittany's approval, Kurt could feel the walls that had forever separated him from the cool people being torn down. The Neanderthal with the peanut butter had even shot Kurt an approving "Damn" after Brittany had told said Neanderthal about their make out session.

Kurt felt like a celebrity. Like... Jodie Foster. Which made Brittany a much more polite and slightly more mentally stable John Hinckley.

He tried to tell her that at one point, but her answer had been something about bingo.

Still, it wasn't bad. It really wasn't. And he was grateful to Brittany, and somewhat in awe of her social prowess. She got to fulfill her own deluded fantasies of being Kurt's fuckbuddy, and boost him up the social ladder at the same time.

In true _Chicago_ fashion, she boosted him up his ladder, kid, and he boosted her up hers.

And it could have been absolutely perfect.

She prepared to sit him down on the tackiest sofa he'd ever seen, let alone had ever sat on.

"Oh, god, Brittany, wait," Kurt said, reaching into his pocket, where he had stashed a pack of Kleenex. He pulled out three, neatly lay them on the cushion, and gingerly sat down.

"There's no telling what's gone on on this sofa," he said by way of explanation.

"You're so funny, Kurt," she said. "I'll be right back."

Within another minute, she returned with two overflowing, mismatched glasses.

"Here you go, babe," she said, handing one of them to Kurt. He could smell its eye-watering stench several feet away and recoiled in horror.

"Oh, god, Brittany. Haven't they got anything to drink that wasn't distilled in a toilet?"

"It's good. Try it," she said. "Captain and Coke."

"Thank you, no, Brittany. I don't drink… anymore. I had a rather... humiliating episode several months back, involving a blackout, and vomiting on Ms. Pillsbury. I still haven't completely lived that down."

"But, Kurt..." she said, blinking with confusion."That's what's supposed to happen."

"Okay, no... Just..." Kurt took the tacky glass and set the glass down on the equally tacky end table.

Brittany shrugged.

"So, whose house is this, anyway?" Kurt asked.

Brittany frowned, deep in thought.

"Kelly? Or, no... Jade."

And who the hell were Kelly and Jade? He had no idea. Why had he even asked? Small talk. That was what happened at parties.

Brittany had somehow already finished half her glass, and Kurt gasped.

"Brit! My god! Slow down with that stuff! You'll make yourself sick!"

Brittany's reddened eyes took on a distinct glitter.

"You care about me so much, Kurt."

"Well, I just don't want..."

"You're not like other guys," she whispered.

"You can say that again."

"That's super sweet. I mean... you actually really care about me. It's… nice. I think a lot of guys don't."

Kurt was completely taken aback by her sudden burst of candor. Good god. Way to completely break his heart in the span of one sentence.

She laid her head on his shoulder, and Kurt blinked several times so as not to cry into her ponytail.

"I do care about you, Boo," he said quietly, using the pet name he had given her during their brief courtship. "Of course I do."


	11. Chapter 11

Day Two in Hell.

"No, I'm sorry," Finn droned in a dull, fatigued, distracted monotone. "You can't return used cloth diapers."

"What? Are you even listening to me? I am not trying to return cloth diapers!" the agitated, middle aged female customer cried. "I'm trying to buy them!"

Finn blinked. _God! Wake up, moron!_

"Oh. Sorry, we don't sell cloth diapers."

"What-? Oh, this is ridiculous. I want to see your manager."

"What's going on here?" asked Finn's "superior", Howard Bamboo, that creepy guy who used to be in Acafellas with Mr. Schue.

"Are you the manager? Never mind. Just... Where are your cloth diapers?" the customer asked. "This man is no help."

"Cloth diapers?" asked Howard. "Umm... boy. I don't know... Have you thought about using a pillowcase?"

"I'm sorry?" the customer snapped.

"Dude, you can't use a pillowcase for a diaper," Finn said. "Even I know that."

"Don't back-sass me," Howard said in that same dull, monotone voice he always used. "I outrank you. You have to do what I say. Go mop the men's room."

"But Puck-er, I mean, Noah just did that ten minutes ago!"

"Well, go and do it again, or I'll write you up."

Finn stared at Howard, stunned. Then he turned, and lumbered off. Behind him, he was well aware of the customer ranting at Howard about how badly the employees were trained. Not the first time, either.

He went in the back room for the mop, only to find it missing, along with the bucket. God. Puck had probably left it in the bathroom, right where people could trip over it. He couldn't understand how Puck hadn't been fired yet, he really couldn't.

He opened the door to the men's bathroom, expecting to find the bucket and mop. He did.

He sighed loudly and closed the door, only to find himself staring at Puck, who had apparently been too busy crushing some not-unhot housewife against the wall with his hand on her ass and his tongue down her throat to put back the mop.

"Jesus!" Finn screamed. The woman jumped, and Puck slowly pulled apart from her with a grin on his face.

"Jesus has left the building," Puck said in his best "fuck me" voice.

"What the hell is going on?" Finn screamed. "You're supposed to be mopping! And-and this is the dude's bathroom!"

"I know. No one was supposed to find us here," Puck said pointedly. The housewife couldn't speak.

"Well... god, Puck! Go somewhere else so I can mop."

"No, man, it's cool. I got it."

"Howard Bamboo told me to."

"Well, that Howard Bamboo's kind of retarded, isn't he?" Puck asked.

"Will you just leave?" Finn snapped.

The housewife smiled apologetically, and said in a husky voice,

"I really should get back to shopping. Thanks for helping me find the shower caddies..." she squinted at Puck's nametag, "Nah?"

"What?" Puck looked down at his nametag, which did indeed read "Nah". "Son of a bitch! I lost my O!"

"I know, I know. I did, too," the woman said a little sadly. She turned on a seductive grin, "Your store does offer rain checks, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," Puck said blankly.

The woman frowned, then turned and left.

Puck let out an irritated growl.

"It would have killed you to knock, huh?" he yelled at Finn.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Finn yelled back. "We need these damn jobs, Puck, or else we're going to get expelled, and Glee Club is going to get cut! I mean, I know you probably already forgot that, but can you at least pretend to do some work while you're here?"

"Oh, god, if I have to hear one more self-righteous lecture out of you, Finn, I'm gonna hurl. I seriously am."

"Then do your damn job!"

"You do _your_ damn job!"

The door flew open, and there, in all her formerly-married-to-Mr.-Schuester glory, was Terri.

God, this store was like a Mr. Schue's Failures convention.

"What the hell is going on in here?" she hissed. "I have been getting complaints from the customers, and I can hear you morons all the way across the store!"

"I was just mopping the floor, Mrs. Schue," Puck shrugged.

"So was I," Finn said as believably as he could.

"Okay, look," Terri growled, pushing the two boys into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

Puck raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Want me to lock the door, Mrs. Schue?" Puck asked seductively.

"No, I do not want you to lock the door. I want you both to shut up and listen to me. Now, I had to pull a lot of strings to get you this job. I was even willing to set aside my painful relationship with Will-Mr. Schuester, in order to help you kids. But I'm telling you right now, I am going to make manager by the end of the month, with or without you. So either you dumbasses step up and do your damn jobs, or I'll find somebody else. And from what I understand, that wouldn't be real good for either of you. But it would be fine for me."

Finn and Puck shot each other a look. She was right. She was absolutely right.

"We're sorry, Mrs. Schuester," Finn mumbled.

"Well, I should hope so."

"Can we start over?" Puck asked in an innocent voice, dripping with sweetness. "We promise to do better."

"Well... I suppose so," Terri said, pursing her lips. "But I mean it. No second chances!"

They nodded, and Terri walked out, just as naturally as if she always yelled at guys in the men's room. Hell, maybe she did. Mr. Schue had been really vague when he'd talked about how crazy she was.

In any event, his job in Hell was in danger now. And now, he had to devote even more time, care, energy and attention to keeping it.

And the Sarah McLachlan-rich Muzak hadn't even begun to purge Kurt's voice from Finn's head.

Fuck everything.

There wasn't a single thing fit to eat or drink in that entire house, was there? Kurt realized as he looked over the snack selection.

The table in the dingy, unsanitary kitchen had been piled high with several bags of store brand chips and store brand candy, case after case of store brand pop (indeed, Brittany's Captain and Coke had not been Captain and Coke at all, but rather, Captain and Super Fizz brand Cola), and, of course, the booze.

If only he hadn't been starving. If only.

As he took a paper plate and set to work reading the nutritional information on the back of every single bag, he had to wonder:

Was this really the way the popular people, the elite, the ruling class of high school lived?

It occurred to him that Finn, at least; Finn who had been his very first special envoy into the world of the popular, lived this way.

It sucked profoundly for him as he realized that Finn had probably been to so many parties like this that he couldn't even hope to count, let alone recall them all.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Finn (with help from Puck) could have planned this party. It reeked of him, it really did.

Hot, utterly brainless girls everywhere. Naught but disgusting, fattening, artery-blocking swill to eat and drink. Booze. Make out sessions. A room full of people who seemed to be collectively screaming, "I'm so awesome! Validate me!", yet who seemed to be well on their way to giving up on life completely.

A room full of Lima Losers.

How, he wondered now, had these people held dominion over his entire life for so long? They were really nothing but scared children. Terrified children. Damaged, derailed, destroyed children.

They would be here forever, wouldn't they? Not physically, of course, or chronologically. But in their dreams, in their memories, in their desperation. This was as good as it would ever get, wasn't it?

Store brand corn chips and store brand pop.

He had had a dream once. Like, 3 days ago. To help Finn rise beyond the mediocrity that before tonight, Kurt couldn't really put into words, but which he knew Finn was in danger of being forever trapped by.

He hadn't expected a miracle, and for awhile there, he had actually had much more than he had ever expected to have. He had gained a loyal, devoted... something. That had been real. It had. It had been so real that he had taken it for granted and grown complacent.

It hadn't been the way he had dreamed it would be.

It had been better. For both of them.

With bitterness, now, he supposed that Finn had ultimately chosen to walk away, back to this, probably just because it was easier, and more familiar.

Finn had chosen mediocrity, and being a delinquent punk ass afraid of his own feelings.

He was an idiot. God! Finn Hudson was such an _idiot!_ An idiot whose fight or flight instinct was permanently stuck on "flight". As soon as things got too good in paradise, he ran as fast as he could, back into hell, where at least he knew what to expect.

Finn was really nothing but a terrified little boy, so afraid of losing his mediocrity that he'd throw away his greatness just to protect it.

Well, the damn corn chips seemed safe enough, anyway. A vigorous (as vigorous as he could manage, anyway) session of Wii Fit and a twelve hour fast of lemon juice and sparkling water would probably be enough to undo the damage.

Anyway, dammit, he was starving.

Turning the corner, he found himself face to face...

...with Santana.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked. Demanded. Her voice was shrill. She had obviously been hitting the Captain and Super Fizz just as hard as Brittany had, if her flaming cheeks and watery red eyes were any indication.

Kurt realized for the first time that a Drunk Santana was an Angry Santana. And an Angry Santana was something you really tried your hardest to avoid, at least if you even remotely valued your physical and emotional well-being.

"I'm... getting some chips," Kurt said as mildly as he could.

"This ends right now."

"I'm... sorry. I didn't realize I wasn't supposed to-"

With a swift, almost cat-like motion, she slapped the plate of chips out of Kurt's hand.

"Well, I should… thank you, I suppose," Kurt said shakily. "You saved me the trouble of working off those awful, fattening chips."

"You need to back the hell off, and stay away from her," Santana said in a dangerous tone.


	12. Chapter 12

Kurt paled.

"I… need to stay away from who?" Kurt asked, unable to hide the incredulous edge to his voice.

"You know damn well who," she snarled, getting right up in his face. "She's off-limits. I'm telling you right now, find somebody else to experiment with."

"Experiment… Oh, dear god…" Kurt said slowly, as realization dawned on him. "You can't mean Brittany?"

"Of course I mean Brittany."

Well, thank god. What a joke. It was almost hilarious. For a moment, Kurt had thought there might actually be a problem! He felt relief washing over him as he realized how easily the situation could and likely would remedy itself.

"Santana…" he had to will himself not to laugh, "Your level of intoxication notwithstanding, surely you can't honestly think I have feelings for _Brittany_. You have nothing to worry about-"

She shoved him backward.

"What the hell, Santana?" Kurt cried.

"I'm fucking serious, Hummel. Stay the hell away from her."

"I am staying away from her!"

"Oh, is that what you call it?"

"Santana-we haven't-"

"Look, I don't care if you're just trying to find yourself, again, for like the fifth time. I don't care if you wanna have a threesome with her and Finn. You leave her the hell out of your bullshit!"

Kurt reddened with a combination of anger and humiliation.

"Santana, what is the matter with you? Are you insane? What happened between Brittany and I was a one-time thing! I ended it. I like her as a friend, nothing more!"

"Well, that's apparently not what she thinks!"

Kurt scoffed.

"Well, it isn't my fault that she's sexually attracted to me, alright? I've done all I can. I've made it abundantly clear that it's over, and it's never going to happen again."

"It never should have happened in the first place! You had no right to use her that way."

"Brittany propositioned me, alright? It was her idea. She wanted to maintain her perfect record. I helped her do that. And it was mutually beneficial. She helped me realize once and for all who I really am."

Santana shook her head. Her eyes shone with a terrifying rage.

"Who you really are. I'll tell you who you fucking are. You're Finn Hudson."

Kurt stared at her.

"What? Are you too stupid to realize that? How it's exactly the same?" Santana cried.

"No. No. My relationship with Brittany is nothing like-"

"It's EXACTLY like that. God, how dumb are you, seriously? She's always sitting next to you. She's always leaning on you. She's always staring at you, touching you, cuddling with you. She acts exactly the way you would act around Finn, if you had any balls."

Kurt could feel the sharp, painful truth slowly drilling into him. Drilling through his incredulity, drilling through his denial, drilling through the shell of proclaimed self-respect, through the suddenly very cruel disgust he had absolutely felt, try as he had to pretend otherwise.

And Santana wasn't finished administering her psychic beating.

"She sang that song to you, the same way you sang to Finn. For the same damn reason. And you still didn't get it. What a fucking shock. Finn didn't get it, either, did he?"

_Sweet Jesus._

"But Brittany... just wants to get in my pants," Kurt whispered.

Santana rolled her eyes.

"Brittany wants to get in everyone's pants. She wants to get in Artie's pants. She wants to get in _Jacob Ben Israel_'s pants. This isn't the same thing as that, and you know it. This isn't about sex."

"Well, I don't understand. She can have any boy... or girl, in the entire school! Why is she-"

Santana scoffed.

"She doesn't _want_ somebody she can _have_."

Such a devilishly simple statement. But it said everything. It said far too much, and Santana suddenly seemed to realize the implications behind the statement. She turned her back to Kurt, walking… or stumbling, rather, into the kitchen.

Kurt had to follow her. At the risk of getting his ass kicked, or of getting in too deep in something that hadn't been any of his business a few minutes ago, he had to follow her.

She was leaning against the sink, swaying back and forth. She'd turned on the water, but seemed to forget what she wanted it for. She just let it run.

"You love her, don't you?" Kurt whispered, before he could take it back. "The same way I…"

"I don't need a therapy session from you," Santana snapped.

"I'm sorry."

The water continued running.

"The whole school knew we were doing it, anyway," she said bitterly. "You know, god, because we're such big sluts that we'll fuck anything that moves, even each other. But it didn't mean anything. Half the time we just did it because we were bored. It didn't mean anything. We're _best friends_."

She grabbed a dirty glass out of the sink and started rinsing it out.

"You just don't... know what kind of..."

She drank from the still dirty glass.

"When we were kids, Brittany fell madly in love with _Big Bird_," Santana blurted out, spraying water all over the back of the sink.

"What?" Kurt asked, taken aback both by the strange admission, and the fact that it had been uttered at all. He wasn't sure which was more bizarre.

"Yeah. We went to _Sesame Street on Ice_, when we were like… four. We hadn't been there for five minutes before her mom noticed she was gone. We finally saw her, up on the big screen. She had jumped down onto the ice to go be with Big Bird."

Santana lifted her chin, smiling painfully, trying to blink back tears, but laughing at the same time.

"I still remember that dumb ass little girl running across the ice, screaming that now they could get married, because Big Bird wasn't stuck in her TV anymore; she got him out. She didn't know he was just some guy in a suit."

"What… happened when she found out?"

"She never did. But, luckily, when she joined kindergarten in the fall, she seemed to forget about it. Except for when she'd tell boys she didn't want to look at their wee-wees, because she was already married."

Kurt looked at the floor uncomfortably.

"You gotta understand, that's the kind of girl she is," Santana continued, "You know the last time she fell in love with someone she could actually have? Because I sure don't. And I knew her when she was 1 year old."

She turned and looked at him then. Uncomfortable, vulnerable, deep pain was written on her face.

"She can't… figure out how to love someone who actually loves her and wants her. She just… keeps going after Big Bird."

The situation was so absurd. So absurd, so comical, and so heartbreaking. And so identical to the one Kurt had been living with for the last eight months.

Every awful, unforgivable thing Finn had done to him, he was doing to Brittany. Every smile he shot her, she was misinterpreting, the same way he had misinterpreted Finn's smiles at him.

What kind of denial had he been in to have not seen that? How ridiculously pathetic was it that it had taken the ravings of a drunken cheerleader to put his head on straight? To show him how badly he had treated a girl he considered a friend, a girl who was possibly more damaged than he could fathom, who hadn't done anything wrong except to follow her immature, deranged little heart, just the way he had followed his?

Where had his insanity led him? The same place Brittany's insanity was leading her. Utter misery.

What he had now with Finn was an ambiguous, sexually-charged, unbearably painful and horrific emotional clusterfuck. They hadn't spoken or made eye contact in days.

Finn had run away. He had gotten in too deep, and now he was gone.

While Kurt knew he wouldn't get in too deep with Brittany, he was still setting her up for a great deal of misery.

And if anyone did, Brittany deserved better than that.

He had to fix this.

Brittany had relocated from the couch, Kurt discovered as he turned the corner back into the living room, only to find the Neanderthal from McKinley in her seat, feverishly banging on a set of Rock Band drums while a girl screamed off-key to "Hard to Handle".

Drums, video games, amateurish singing. What was this, a Finn Hudson theme party?

No, of course not. Of course not. This was just the way these people lived. And somewhere among them was Brittany, and she was the only person that mattered right now.

Still, he took great comfort in being catty. It may have been the one true comfort left to him at the moment. He just hated these people so much.

As Kurt scanned the area for any sign of Brit, Kelly (or Jade?) came running down the stairs into the living room.

"God, will you guys sing quieter? I told you already, if the cops come one more time, my grandma's never buying us beer again!"

Kurt squinted and peered out through the sliding glass door which led out onto the deck. Ah! There. He had spotted her, sitting on one of those horrible $30 plastic Adirondack style chairs from the supermarket. She was alone, in the dark.

He made his way outside, into what was really a very beautiful night, considering. Warm, a little balmy. The entire world smelled of tangy, pungent new life.

Though, it was funny. New life usually didn't smell like-

_Oh, dear god. _

Brittany was smoking a joint.

"Brittany!" Kurt exclaimed, rushing over to her. "What are you doing?"

It took her a moment to answer.

"Hey, Kurt."

"Brittany, are you smoking pot?"

"Totally."

"Brittany… You can't just sit outside and smoke dope. Someone's going to see you!"

"It's cool, Kurt. It's legit. I get it from Mr. Ryerson. Coach Sylvester thinks it makes me smarter."

"Coach Sylvester knows you smoke pot?"

"It was her idea."

Kurt sank down into the chair opposite hers.

"But... I really don't have enough to share," she said.

"It's okay, Brit. You go ahead." He felt like he was getting a contact high just being within 4 feet of her.

She took a deep inhalation, and as she held her breath, she gazed thoughtfully across the ill-kept backyard, at the empty parking lot that stretched on for a block beyond it, and the boarded-up former drug store in the corner of the lot.

"Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in," she said softly.

Kurt turned his head to stare at her, shocked.

"_American Beauty_," he murmured.

"Totally. Mexico's nice, too. Before Coach Sylvester's budget got cut, she used to fly us down to the border on weekends so we could climb the fences and run from the border patrol. It's really good for toning your triceps. Lifting weights just isn't the same. I feel flabby-"

"Brittany," Kurt said, closing his eyes. "Brittany... try very, very hard to listen to me. I have something... tremendously important I must discuss with you, and I need your full attention."


	13. Chapter 13

Brittany's eyes widened.

"I'm listening, Kurt. I told you, wacky tobacky makes me smarter. You can tell me anything. Really."

"Really. That's… that's good, Brittany. Because I… had a little talk with Santana."

Brittany nodded.

"I know exactly who you're talking about."

Kurt frowned.

"That's… good."

"We are absolutely on the same page."

"Great." Pause. "Well, Santana… is very worried about you. And, um… with good reason, I think."

"Santana's awesome. I should call her-" Brittany reached for her phone.

"Brittany! No. No. Just… listen to me for a minute. Just a minute. _Please_."

Brittany's massive eyes shone blankly under the lone porch light.

"Kurt, did somebody die?" she asked quietly.

"No… nobody died."

"I'm glad."

Kurt had no idea how to proceed. He had hoped that the conversation would progress organically. He should have already said what he came here to say, but somehow, he couldn't get the words out. He felt like he was walking up a flight of stairs made completely from eggshells, and was trying _so_ hard not to break any.

He thought back to Mercedes, the first (and last, he had prayed) girl to have those kinds of feelings for him.

Mercedes had put a rock through his windshield.

And she was the strong, rational one.

He and Mercedes had reconciled, and become even better friends, because they were both smart, sensible, mature people. He couldn't hope for anything like that to happen here.

Santana had put the fear of god into him, she really had, and a dozen scenarios rushed through his head. In all of them, his head somehow ended up mounted on a stake outside of Santana's house.

_There was no right way to do this._

"Kurt Hummel," Brittany sighed. "Who named you Hummel? I just love that name."

_Kurt knew he was dead either way. Looking down the barrel of a gun. _

_Out with it. _

_Just… out with it. _

"Brittany, Santana told me you have feelings for me. And after I thought about it for awhile, I realized… that she's absolutely right."

_He could keep his mouth shut, or he could do his best to set the record straight. _

"Brittany, I care about you so much. Too much not to tell you that… I will never be able to love you, or any other girl, for that matter, the way you love me."

_At least now, he could say he had tried._

"Ever, Brittany. Ever."

_He was dead either way._

"I'm… so sorry that I ever did anything to give you the impression that we could ever be anything more than what we are. It was wrong of me to kiss you. It was wrong of me to let you go on thinking one day we might get together. And it's completely my fault if you get hurt because of all this."

_She wasn't saying anything._

"I'm… so sorry, Brittany. I'm so sorry."

_She was still silent._

"But… but, listen, Brittany. It's gonna be okay. It is."

_Silence._

"When… when you said… that most guys didn't treat you very well… that's… well, that's because most of the guys we know are assholes. Most guys, period, are assholes. Makes me almost wish I could give them up completely."

_Silence._

"But, Brittany, one day, you will find someone who will treat you well, and who can love you so much better than I can. He… or she, will give you everything you've ever wanted. You will love him or her completely, and he or she will love you back. I know it, Brittany. You're going to be so happy someday, Brittany-"

Brittany suddenly smiled.

_Smiled. _

"You sound like Mr. Schue," she yawned.

"I… guess I do…" Kurt muttered. "But, I… I mean it. Brittany… did you understand what I said to you?"

"Mmmm… Kurt Hummel, Coach Sylvester was right. This stuff does make me smarter."

"Alright."

"So you are capital-G Gay."

"…Yes, Brittany."

"You should have just said so."

"I… did, Brittany. On multiple occasions. But it's still my fault-"

"Mm-mmm. It's my fault." Brittany's eyes were red and watery, but Kurt honestly couldn't tell if that was from the dope, or a show of emotion. "Oh, god, Kurt. Sometimes… I just don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you."

"Yes, there is. I'm so dumb sometimes."

"No… Dumb? What? No… you're…"

"I mean… I totally knew. But you were so nice, and I was so nice. Everything was so nice."

"It was," Kurt said, a little wistfully.

"You're the only guy I've ever made out with who noticed that I was using the wrong toner. How I actually have combination skin, and not oily."

"It's true."

It was.

"I'll never forget that."

"Neither will I."

She smiled.

"So… I'm gonna have to cross you off my list, I guess."

"…Yeah. You are."

Brittany took another hit of her joint.

"Are… you okay?" Kurt asked.

"I… think so."

"Really?"

Brittany hesitated.

"Can… Can I still touch myself when I think about you in those really tight plaid pants?"

Kurt felt himself going ghostly white.

"Oh… god. No… Brittany, I don't know if-"

"No, no, no. See… I do that with everybody who wears tight pants. Honest. It's another one of my turn-ons. I try to think of somebody different every night. You'll probably only come up, maybe once a month."

"Um… Well… in that case, I…I… guess…" Kurt stammered, flushing.

"Awesome. We're good, then."

"We are?"

"We are. I'll be okay. I won't speak to anyone about it ever again, not even Santana. A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets. But I'll never forget that I made out with a man named Kurt Hummel, and that he was gay, in every way that a person can be gay. I don't even have a picture of us making out. It exists now… only in my memory."

"_Titanic,"_ Kurt whispered. "Brittany, you really are amazing."

He patted her hand, and she smiled contentedly.

"Yeah…" she mused. "I am."

"You… _will_ remember we had this conversation tomorrow, won't you?"

"Of course. I never forget the important stuff. I just might forget how to write. It's okay, though. Potato can teach me again."

"Potato… your cat."

"He's working on his novel."

_Dear god._

_Somehow, Kurt Hummel might actually go on living for awhile. _

_At least until the next girl fell for him._


	14. Chapter 14

Finn discovered that the "cool people" who worked at Sheets N Things (i.e. the guy who unloaded the trucks, spoke no English and had been in prison, and the college girl who was a lesbian and lived with twelve cats) took their "lunch" hours in the mall proper.

It was only a short walk from Sheets N Things to the mall entrance through Kohl's, and from there, another short walk past the movie store to the food court. If he ate quickly, or chose not to eat at all, but rather fill chose to fill up on a $1.19 Coke and a couple stolen refills, he could get back to work in plenty of time.

Finn noticed that the truck guy and the lesbian were sharing a table and a slice of Sbarro, and he decided not to say hi to them. They looked busy, and besides, truck guy had his box cutter sitting right out on the table. He'd used it to cut the pizza slice in half, and the blade was caked in red gunk. Finn felt that the guy was trying to send a message with that, and the message was "I've been in prison. Don't fuck with me."

The coke came to $1.19 plus tax. Finn had forgotten about the damn tax, and practically tore his pockets out, trying to find the additional few cents.

"Hey, it's cool," the cashier, a said. "I got it."

"Oh, thanks. I owe you one."

She shrugged.

"It's cool. You look like you've had a rough day."

"Yeah. I work at Sheets N Things… I'm new."

The cashier shook her head silently, a combination of pity, nausea, shock and sorrow written on her face.

"_God_," was all she said.

Anyway, the Coke was fantastic. He liked to mix it with Sprite, Dr. Pepper, Crush and iced tea, and today, he had somehow gotten the combination exactly right.

That girl had been so nice, though, that he decided he better not steal any refills.

Well, maybe one. He was really thirsty.

He felt better, anyway. The sugar and caffeine did exactly what he had hoped they would do: give him a light, breezy, wide awake feeling. Pop on an empty stomach was an amazing thing, and his stomach was as empty as it could be.

He went for a little walk after his second refill. The girl's back had been turned, so it was probably okay. A few stores were getting ready to close, including the movie store. It was worth a peek inside, just to see what they had.

A quick peek, anyway.

A very quick peek.

The cashier never took his eyes off Finn as Finn tried to look casual, but quickly became too nervous to concentrate on anything besides making it as apparent as possible that he wasn't there to shoplift.

As a result, he looked more than ever like he was there to shoplift.

The caffeine hit him like a ton of bricks, and it was making his hands shake, and the lights in that store were way too bright. So he ended up squinting, shaking and dropping almost everything he looked at.

Oh, boy, he should have gotten a burger instead. Or one fewer pop refill.

"Can I help you find something?" the cashier asked.

"Nope, you guys don't have it," Finn blurted out, smiling nervously.

"We don't have what?"

"Uh… _I Thee Wed._ That new… Glenn Close… movie. Never mind. Thanks."

"We have _I Thee Wed._ It just came in-"

"That's okay! Thanks!" Finn quickly walked out.

_Oh, boy._ He had to sit down. That pop was not a good idea. Of course, neither was going to school and work on no food and no sleep. Or being born.

He sat on a bench across from the movie store. The store had a bunch of TVs mounted in the wall, playing scenes from classic movies.

_Just concentrate on the TVs. It's _Terminator 2, _man_.

Ahnold had just walked into the bar, and was getting ready to ruin some bikers' shit.

"_I need your clothes, your boots, and your motorcycle."_

Finn smirked. He wished he could do a better Ahnold impression. Everytime he tried, Puck told him to shut up, because he sucked at it. Not that Puck was any better. _Get to da choppa!_

Finn was on the verge of laughing out loud, when the scene ended. A brief segue, and on to the next clip. Another iconic movie clip, another clip that had worked its way into the mainstream consciousness and the-

A guy at a piano.

Oh.

Dear god, no.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, the Onyx Club is proud to present Chicago's hottest dancing duo. Two jazz babes moving as one! The Kelly Sisters!"_

Oh, it had to be a different movie. It couldn't be _Chicago_. No, it wasn't. It was just strikingly similar, with the same piano guy. That guy probably played the piano in every movie.

And that chick, in that wig, with those shoes, and that dress, who were all… also… probably in every movie…

_Singing that song_.

Fuck.

_FUCK!_

Oh, and of course, he hadn't dreamed this exact same scene every single night for the last week, with himself at the piano, and Kurt doing all that just _ridiculous, impossible, insane_ dancing! Certainly not!

His memory of the dancing and the angles and the photography hadn't been almost eerily flawless, either. Perish the fucking thought. He hadn't recalled every little detail. He really hadn't. He had had no reason to! It wasn't as though the musical was so deeply embedded in his consciousness that it would never come out, or anything absolutely ridiculous like that!

He had gotten away from it. He had put a stop to it. He had told Kurt off, had gotten a job, hadn't listened to or watched that awful movie or any of the other recordings in, what, three days? Oh, and goddammit, it was GREAT.

This was exactly what he wanted. To be free of that shit. To only somehow have that movie just be a movie again, everything else would fall right into place, wouldn't it? That music would just be music again. Kurt Hummel would just be some kid again.

He had had to get away from it all before it killed him. And he _had._

So why in the absolute fuck did he suddenly feel so _alive_ again, right now, for the first time in days?

He hadn't realized he was crying, on some damn bench in the middle of the mall, in _public_, until Terri was suddenly there.

"Oh, my god, Finn? Is that you? Are you okay?" she asked, sitting down on what was left of the bench.

He turned away from her, angrily scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

"No, no… I'm…"

"You didn't come back from your break… Alex and Sascha said they saw you at the food court, so I came looking. Finn, I really don't want to have to fire you…"

"No, no… I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please-"

"I said no second chances… but… do you want to talk about it?"

"No…"

"Did something happen at home?"

"No…"

Terri looked irritated.

"Well, Finn, you're not back at work. You're supposed to be back at work unless you have a damn good reason. If you're not going to tell me what that reason is, I have no choice."

Finn closed his eyes.

"It's… it's nothing, really. Really. It's just… this song."

_Well, there we go. Out with it, just like that. _

"The song… the one playing on the TV?" Terri asked, the way you asked a homicidal maniac if that was really a gun in his pocket.

"'All That Jazz'."

Terri laughed. A laugh of fear? Disgust?

"Oh, my god. I… I can't believe it. My god, Finn, You really are…"

Finn squeezed his eyes shut. There was no way the end of that sentence could be good.

"…Just like my husband used to be."

Her husband?

Mr. Schue?

_What the fuck did that mean?_


	15. Chapter 15

"…What?" Finn breathed.

"My husband… He used to cry over showtunes, too."

Finn stared at her, as one last tear cascaded down his cheek.

"What?" he managed to spit.

"Sure, didn't he ever tell you kids that? Oh, god, he was so _sensitive_ in high school and college. I thought that was so attractive. I mean, what other guy had to get out his hanky whenever the dance remix of 'Don't Cry for Me Argentina' came on the radio?"

Finn could think of at least one other guy, but he kept silent.

"You're so much like him. And, trust me, girls just go crazy for guys like you. They really do. You show your sensitive side and you've got any girl you want."

"That's… good to know," Finn said.

"Hey, I mean it, too. When I think of how Will..." she stopped, blushing. Her eyes were enormous. "Never mind about Will. Let's talk about you. You... really like musicals that much, huh?"

"No," Finn admitted. "I mean... there's just something about this one that..." he choked on the words. "Well, it's the only one I know. And I don't even like it that much, it's just..."

"God, don't tell me musicals went and got cool."

"No. They definitely didn't go and get cool."

"Then you must really like it. Trust me, Finn, there are only two reasons people your age like anything: either because it's popular, or because you actually like it."

"Well... the thing is... I never... even knew it existed. But, there's this... person, who... kind of showed me. But, then, we had this big thing, which was all my fault, and now, I can't listen to it without thinking of... that person. So it's all ruined. But at the same time, I can't get either one of them out of my head, either the... person, or the music."

Terri smiled the saddest smile he had seen since he didn't even know when.

"Would you believe I know exactly what you mean?"

He looked down. God, he hadn't meant to bring back creepy old person regrets and memories of Mrs. Schue back when she was still Mrs. Schue.

"Does it... ever go away?" he asked.

"Of course. If you really want it to, of course it'll go away."

She seemed to realize what she had said then, and gasped, turning to Finn and grasping his hand.

"I mean, but, Finn, listen to me. Yes. Yes. It goes away. It went away for me. I have to have my antidepressant dosage upped every time I hear a show tune. I blame music in general for ruining my life, but... god, there are times I miss it so much... you can't even imagine."

"Yeah, I can," Finn said quietly.

"You know the last time I had a song in my head that wasn't Kenny G or Kidz Bop? God, Finn, it was that time you, Noah and my husband all performed in that boy band."

"Acafellas?"

"God, you were all so good. Seeing Will and all of you guys up there... so happy. And he was so amazing, and it just... I couldn't handle it, you know? I couldn't handle it. So... Yeah. It goes away, when you throw it away."

She looked over at the TV, and shook her head.

"But, god, Finn. I don't know who that person of yours is, or what happened, but I do know that if you throw it away, you might not ever get another chance. You might lose it forever. Maybe that would make it easier, but trust me, you'll never forgive yourself. You apparently have something right now that's powerful enough to make you sit here and cry in the middle of the mall. You're a guy. That... has to be pretty powerful. "

"It is."

"Anything that powerful... can't be all bad."

Finn was stunned. Terri was actually... was it possible... really helping him? He hadn't had a counseling session this good since the time he had told Ms. Pillsbury he was addicted to gum in ninth grade, and she had told him about the sugar-free kind, which tasted better anyway.

"You know... Mrs. Schue, it's too bad you're not our school nurse anymore," he said through a smile.

"Really? Well, Finn, you know, you can get those pills at any drugstore."

"No, I mean... because you're right. You're the first person I've talked to about this. And you're right."

She nodded.

"Oh, Finn, I know I'm right. I just... really kind of wish I didn't know I was right."

"Listen... how do I tell him-I mean... that person...? You know, that I was wrong and... stuff."

Terri let out a disbelieving snort.

"Uh... you're asking the wrong person."

"Oh." He looked at the floor. "Sorry."

"Well, look... was that really all that's bothering you?" she asked.

"Yeah, you know… pretty much." Finn tried to smile.

Terri sighed, rolled her eyes, and then looked back at him, setting her jaw.

"God, you are Mr. Schuester's student. Well, I don't want to fire you, Finn. You seem like a really good kid. That Noah guy is another story. I am convinced that he falsified his application, because I swear, he is not old enough to be selling those personal massagers. But you at least seem like you're trying."

"I really am," Finn said. "I am, Mrs. Schue. I'm really sorry-"

"Just… come on back to work, and I'll forget the whole thing. Really. As long as you don't do it again."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Thank you, Mrs. Schue. Thank you-"

"Look… just one other thing."

"What?"

"Call me Terri from now on. When you call me Mrs. Schue, I really just want to punch you in the face. And I like you too much to have those kinds of thoughts."

"G-got it. Terri."

The song was ending, and as Finn walked away, looking back at Velma Kelly's defiant smirk as she gave that song her all, Finn realized that, as absurd as it sounded, his painful enthusiasm for _Chicago_ had sort of saved his job, and sort of helped him make a new friend in Mrs. Sch-Terri.

And oddly enough, he was sort of happy about that.

He looked ahead of him at Terri, who walked really fast for being like 4 feet tall. He hadn't realized things had been so bad between her and Mr. Schue. She was obviously carrying around a hell of a lot of pain. A lot of regrets. And not just weird, vague, old person regrets. Regrets he could understand. Regrets he was also carrying around with him right now.

Regrets that were much closer to killing him than his entire thing with Kurt had ever been.

God, he needed it back.


	16. Chapter 16

Kurt and Brittany re-entered the house, ready to find Santana and go home.

In Brittany's words, "The party sucks now, and I'm probably not going to get any. We might as well go."

Kurt found he had to agree with both points.

To his shock, he found Santana passed out on a chair, leaning against the wall right next to the sliding glass door.

He might have known that she would eavesdrop. A chill ran down his spine as he wondered how much Santana had heard, and whether she would accept it.

"Santana, baby," Brittany whispered, poking at her somnolent cohort. "This party sucks. We're going home."

Santana grumbled in her sleep, swatting Brittany's hand away.

"No. Santana." Brittany said, louder. "Party sucks. Home. Now."

Kurt had never seen Brittany in take-charge mode before. It was fascinating.

It took the two of them to drag her out to his car. Santana was awake now, and irritable.

"Alright, yeah. Let's go home," Santana slurred. "You know where it is, right?"

Kurt glanced back at her.

"Now, how would I have any idea where your house is, Miss Santana Lopez? You haven't even given me your phone number."

"It's cool, Kurt, we'll find it," Brittany said. "We'll find it."

"Yeah, you'll find it," Santana mumbled.

"Now, listen, intoxicated girls," Kurt said as they stumbled out to his car, "I have to set some ground rules. This is my baby's inaugural designated driving trip. I've never had a drunk person in this car before. Therefore, I've never had a drunk person vomit in this car before. I intend to keep it that way."

"Oh, god, shut it, Hummel," Santana groaned. "God, I'm so horny. This party was shit. Jade told me she'd get me laid. She lied."

"You should call Puck," Brittany whispered.

"He's at his job. And he wouldn't drop everything for this, anyway."

"Call Finn."

Kurt bristled, but Santana's derisive laughter let him know he had nothing to worry about.

"I think I'm going to barf now," Santana snorted. "I hope you know that. God, 'call Finn'."

"He's not that bad. Not like I'd know, though. I never got that desperate. Oh, wait!" Brittany climbed into the backseat. "No, wait! I wanted to be up front!"

Before Kurt knew what was happening, Brittany was tumbling headfirst over the backseat and into the front, legs and arms flailing about everywhere.

"Brittany!" Kurt screamed. "God! What are you doing?"

"I wanted to sit up front," she mumbled. He had no idea where her head was.

'Get yourself situated! I'm not driving with you like this!"

She flailed about some more, inadvertently kicking both Kurt and Santana several times before flopping over the passenger seat, face down, kneeling on the floor.

"Brittany-"

"No, I'm good now."

Kurt sighed angrily. That was one more bruise he didn't need.

"Fine. Santana, your house. What's the address?"

"You gotta turn right-"

"No, the address."

"Mmm... 1891 Harrison," she mumbled.

"Thank you, maybe I can actually find that."

The Chicago soundtrack was still in his CD player, though he hadn't played it in several days. Not since the meltdown with Finn. Before the music could start, he popped it out.

He would have to devote most of the weekend to practicing. He had been so distracted that day at rehearsal that he knew he had been awful. Absolutely, unforgivably awful. Not just while singing, either, but also to Tina. God, if she ever forgave him, he made a mental note never to yell at another person as long as he lived.

The girls giggled all the way to Santana's house, mostly about boys they had and hadn't slept with, and the reasons for both cases. Santana continued to complain about being horny. It was as though she kept forgetting that she had just said it a few minutes ago.

Pulling up at Santana's unsurprisingly nice abode, Kurt noticed a familiar looking car parked out front. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; he had most likely seen Santana's car before.

As the girls got out of his car, though, Santana let out an exasperated:

"What the fuck is he doing here already?"

"I don't know who- okay, well... Thanks for a great time, Santana!" Kurt called after her as she indelicately slammed his door.

Brittany was getting out, too.

"Brittany, this is Santana's house," he said.

"I know."

"Do... you want to get out here?"

"Yes."

She said it with such pure joy that Kurt was taken aback.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Santana's... such a good person. She really is. And... don't tell anybody this, but... sometimes, we'll do it. Me and Santana, I mean. Usually only because we were bored, but still."

"Wow," Kurt tried to sound surprised.

"I'm mad that Jade didn't get me laid, either. We're both really horny. So, you know. Maybe we can have pissed off at Jade sex. That's better than bored sex."

"Well... be safe."

"You mean like… lock the door?"

"I mean, take care of each other."

"Oh. We always do," Brittany said simply. She leaned over the seat and gave Kurt a too-long and too-tender kiss on the cheek.

That was just Brittany.

"Thank you, Kurt Hummel," she whispered.

"Thank you, Brittany," he answered.

Kurt smiled as he watched her walk up to the front door, which Santana had left open. She strode in as if she lived there. Kurt glanced back at that too-familiar car, and turned off his dome light.

He sat there for a moment, pondering the implications of what was about to happen. The girl who had fallen in love with the gay guy was on her way to go have stoned, drunken, semi-rebound sex with another girl, and who knew what else.

No wonder the conservatives were worried about their political futures.

Kurt turned his attention to the street and started up the car. It was beginning to rain, and he really hated driving at night anyway. Driving at night, in the rain, was probably his least favorite thing in the world. Better to start now than to-

His smile faded as he realized that Finn was standing right in front of his car.


	17. Chapter 17

Finn was crazy. Absolutely crazy.

Puck had gotten a text while driving, and thrown his phone into Finn's lap.

"Read it to me," he had ordered. "It's from Santana. I'm driving."

Finn had raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, dude... what if it's... private?"

"Whatever, man. Just read it. What do you care? You don't even like girls anymore."

Finn had shot Puck a furious glare, but had opened the phone and read the text.

"_were on way back from shity pqrty super h0rny come on over in ab 15 min 1nce kurts car is gone come n"_

"Oooh," Puck whistled through his teeth as he popped a U-ie in an illegal U-turn area. "Hard to argue with that."

"What the hell is she talking about? Kurt's car? Where are you going?" Finn asked.

"I don't know, they all went to some party. Dude, I don't know how you're gonna get home."

"Wait- you're not even going to take me home first?"

"Nope."

"Dude!"

"Dude what? I'm sorry, man, when you get a text like that, you don't keep Santana waiting. You'll just have to find your own way home. Get a ride from Kurt or something, man."

Finn considered a few other options; jumping out into traffic, forcibly taking control of the vehicle and driving into Canada, either of which would have possibly been much easier and less painful than getting a ride from Kurt. 

At the same time, he could not deny, try as he did, that the prospect of seeing Kurt, getting a ride from him, maybe even having things back to normal filled him with a rush of anticipation he couldn't describe.

Like a drowning man who catches a glimpse of a rope. At least, it might be a rope. He's not sure. He's fucking drowning,

But, failing that, he decided to just wait in the car. At least he could roll the windows up, turn on the AC and listen to the radio. And sleep. Force himself to sleep.

As soon as they arrived and parked, Puck turned to Finn.

"God, I was so pissed. That Terri chick?"

"...Yeah?" Finn asked warily.

"Bitch won't let me ring up personal massagers anymore. She says Howard Bamboo has to be present since I'm not 18."

"Wow. That's rough."

"You're telling me it's rough? How the hell am I supposed to start up a conversation with some fine chick when Howard Bamboo is standing right there?"

"I don't know, man. You'll figure something out."

"Fuck that. God, I can't wait for this shitty job to get over. I was this close to shoving that toilet paper caddy up Mr. Ryerson's ass today."

Finn didn't say anything. The glow of halogen lights illuminated their faces, and Finn's heart skipped a beat as he realized it was Kurt's car, his baby, pulling up behind them.

"Oh, sweet! Right on time."

Without another word, or so much as a glance back at Finn, Puck disregarded Santana's instructions and got out immediately, presumably to go wait in the bushes by her door like some insane killer. Puck had told him once that that was one of Santana's favorite fantasies.

Finn watched Santana get out. The dome light in the car was still on, and he had a perfect, and terrifically painful view of Kurt and Brittany.

They were talking. Kurt looked surprised, happy, excited, relieved.

And absolutely fucking beautiful. He could tell Kurt hadn't been drinking. Kurt was the kind of guy who took that designated driver shit seriously.

Finn sat there in the dark, like a creeper, with his heart in his throat. He watched Brittany give Kurt a kiss, and get out.

The dome light stayed on. Kurt looked in his direction.

It had to be a coincidence. Kurt couldn't see him, not with his dome light on.

Finn reached for his door handle.

_No, no, no. Wait. Wait. What the fuck am I doing?_

Opened the door.

_Get the fuck back in the car, you idiotic sack of shit!_

This couldn't end well.

_He'll probably run you over._

He wasn't really going to do this!

_This is going to kill you-_

If he just got back in the car-

_When he tells you to get fucked_

He could just pretend-

_It's really going to hurt_

He didn't feel anything-

_You felt way too much-_

After all, Mr. Schue cried during show tunes, too-

_You liked kissing him, you liked it a lot and-_

And Mr. Schue certainly wasn't-

_When he tells you to get fucked, you're going to be stuck this way, forever. All_

Gay.

_And alone!_

It was too late. Kurt had spotted him... well, couldn't help but spot him, really. He was standing directly in front of the car, with the headlights in his eyes, blinding him.

God, he hoped Kurt wasn't going to take that opportunity to floor it.

"Finn," Kurt said, unable to mask the surprise in his voice as he turned off his headlights. "What are you doing here?"

A roll of thunder, and almost immediately, a great fat raindrop landed on Finn's nose. Then another one.

Kurt was staring at him through the darkness with his enormous, moist green eyes. The look on his face was one of horror, apprehension.

"I—I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing here," Finn said.

"Finn," Kurt said shakily. "Did something happen?"

"No." Finn shook his head, trying to clear the fog. He was talking to _Kurt._ Kurt who probably spent his entire life worrying about horrible things happening to the people he cared about. Kurt who sometimes woke up crying, sometimes disappeared in his own house for hours, and came back with a red nose and puffy cheeks.

Of course, this looked like Finn was here to tell him something horrible. He rubbed his eyes.

"No, no. Nothing happened. I… I was getting a ride home from Puck. He's just here to have sex with Santana."

"Somebody better tell Brittany that," Kurt said.

Finn continued rubbing his eyes as he slowly made his way to the driver's side. He stopped.

"Brittany?"

"Yeah… never mind, Finn. Is there something I can do for you?"

He said it in an icy tone that Finn knew he completely deserved. The rain had picked up, and in another second, Finn's clothes would be soaked almost all the way through.

"I…" he swallowed.

"You what?"

"I love you."

At that precise moment, a deafening thunderclap roared over them, drowning Finn's voice out completely.

"What?" Kurt asked.

"I—I said— Damn it!"

"Oh, this is just ludicrous. Finn, will you just get in the damn car before you catch pneumonia?"

Finn was happy to do so. He slipped in the mud on the passenger side, dinging his knee against the side of the car. He'd have a hell of a bruise in the morning.

"Fuck!" he yelled.

"What happened?" Kurt called to him.

"Nothing, I…" he opened the door and started to climb in.

"Wipe your feet!" Kurt cried. "These floor mats are Isaac Mizrahi!"

Finn swore as he scraped off his shoes on the pavement. When he finally got in the car, he was so irritated with everything that he couldn't speak. He sat there with Kurt Hummel, in the dark, in the rain, panting in anger.

The words "I love you" were stuck in the front of his mind, as though they had been stapled there.

That had honestly not been what he had intended to say, and apparently God or whoever knew it, and had stepped in.

But now that he could be heard, and could say anything he wanted, he couldn't think of any other way to phrase it.

Kurt finally spoke.

"Looks like rain," he said ironically.

"Yeah."

"So… Puck is here to sleep with Santana?"

"Yeah, that's what he said. They do that a lot."

"Yes, I can imagine they do."

"Yeah."

Kurt tapped his fingers on the dashboard.

"Well, Finn, as grateful as I am for the privilege to have had my first stilted, awkward conversation with you in three whole days, I'm exhausted. I'd like to get home, so we can both get back to pretending the other doesn't exist. So, if you don't mind-"

"I do mind."

Kurt bristled.

"_Well_."

"No. No, I mean… god. Kurt. I…"

He expelled a sharp breath.

"I made a big mistake."

Kurt closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

"No, Kurt, listen. I had a talk with Mrs. Schue-Terri. I was by the movie store, and _Chicago_ came on the TVs. I know, right? Of all the movies. So, yeah, you know, I was… freaking out. She saw me, and she came over, and she-"

"What is this?" Kurt interrupted. He had his chin tilted upward so far that his head was resting on the back of the seat. "What is this going to be, Finn?"

"I-it-"

"No. Don't tell me, Finn. I already know. 'I realized I made a big mistake. I don't have those feelings for you, I never will. It was a one-time thing.' You just want things to be like they were before. Right? You can save it, Finn. You've made all of that abundantly obvious."

"No, Kurt-"

"It's okay. Would you believe I… understand why you did it? I do, Finn. I even understand that you didn't mean to. And I don't blame you. I really don't. I'm not even mad."

"Dammit, Kurt!" Finn snapped. "You're always wrong! Every single time you try to tell me what I'm thinking, you're always wrong!"

With that, he flung himself across the seat, snatched Kurt up by the shoulders, dragged him across into his lap, and kissed the smaller boy harder than he had dared kiss him the other two times. He wasn't sure if lips could bruise, but if they could, this was enough to do it.

"_That_ time," he exclaimed as he pushed Kurt back into his own seat, "I kissed you to shut you up!"

He was not expecting the slap. He should have been, but he wasn't.

"What the hell, Kurt?" Finn cried as his hand flew to his face.

Another slap, while he was unguarded. Another slap that _really really fucking hurt_! _GOD!_

"I am not just a toy you can play with whenever you feel like, and put on a shelf when you don't." Kurt snarled.

"I know that, Kurt!"

"No, you don't. You clearly don't. Make up your damn mind, Finn!"

"I have."

"Sure, for now."

"No. Not just for now. Listen. Listen. I talked to Mrs. Schue. I mean… Terri. My boss. Whatever. And… she helped me realize that what we have isn't just… some shit you throw away because you're scared. Which I did, because I was. God, I never should have done that, Kurt."

"No, you shouldn't have." Kurt looked away.

"Because it's so good. It's so good that it just… makes everything else okay, too. I mean, the way I feel when I'm with you, it must be the way people feel when they're…"

"Drunk?" Kurt asked bitterly.

"In love. With, like, the best person they've ever met."


	18. Chapter 18

Kurt had held back when he slapped Finn that first time. The second time, he hadn't.

Well, no, he had. Because when he was done, Finn hadn't been lying in a puddle of his own filth in the gutter, crying for his mommy.

So, yes. Kurt had held back.

Finn clearly didn't have the same sense of decency. Throwing around the L word as if he had no idea what it really meant. As if he had no idea what he was really saying. Some stupid little boy who wanted to just say it and get it over with, just so he could say he had said it.

And yet, he still held back. _"It must be the way people feel". "People."_ What a coward.

"I am not going to let you do this to me again," Kurt whispered.

"I'm not," Finn said immediately. "I'm not."

"Do you even have any idea what you're saying?"

"No. No. I always screw this up. I never say what I actually mean to say."

"Well, maybe you'd better give that a try, Finn!"

"I-I will. I-"

"You can't just say things like that without thinking about-"

"I love you, Kurt."

Kurt felt the blood rushing out of his head. His vision blurred. For a second, everything was white.

The next thing he knew, Finn was lightly slapping his cheeks, and speaking in a panicked voice.

"Dude, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Shit! I'm sorry!"

"W-what?"

"I'm sorry! Man, god, don't do that! I thought you were dead!"

Kurt had fainted.

_Fainted?_ REALLY? Fainted behind the wheel of his own car, during a thunderstorm and everything?

Well, it was official. The genre of his life had finally crossed over from satirical black comedy to trashy, badly-written bodice-ripping romance.

And all it took was—

He paled, and cupped his head in his hands as the not even-five minute old memory raced back to him.

Finn was reaching across his lap. The contact caused Kurt to flinch and let out a squeak.

"What the hell are you doing?" he screamed.

"Dude, where's your…"

"My what?" Kurt yelled.

"Your seat… thing. You should lie down."

"What seat thing?" 

"Your adjuster… thing…" Finn leaned over in earnest, crushing Kurt's lean, fragile body underneath his bulk.

In doing so, Finn accomplished three things, none of which were what he had set out to do.

Firstly, Finn had cut off Kurt's air supply.

Secondly, he had managed to create enough friction as he writhed around to put Kurt in what could quickly become a very precarious situation.

Thirdly, he was stretching out Kurt's Oscar de la Renta jacket.

"Never mind, Finn!" Kurt choked, trying to push the behemoth teenager off of him. "Never mind! I'll find it!"

Finn finally acquiesced. His shoulders slumped.

"Well, I can't find it," he said resignedly. "Dude, you should go to the hospital."

"No, thank you, Finn. Once a month is often enough." Kurt lowered the back of his seat down so that it was practically level with the backseat.

Because Finn was right. He did have to lie down.

"God, I didn't think you were gonna up and faint on me," Finn said quietly.

"Neither did I," Kurt mumbled. "Or I would have brought my smelling salts."

Finn frowned.

"What is that, like… for cooking?"

Kurt closed his eyes.

"You know what, Finn, from now on, when you don't get my references, just don't say anything. Never mind, if we do that, you'll probably never speak again."

Finn slouched over in his chair, looking like a puppy who had been locked outside. Kurt sighed. At times like this, it was so easy to love Finn.

Or… love him… back.

No. No, no no no no no no. He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't go there. He didn't know where he could go, but he couldn't go there.

He rolled onto his side, pulling his legs up onto the seat. He sighed deeply, an unconscious action.

"Why can't you ever just be happy?" Finn suddenly asked.

Kurt felt the earth move inside him. His blood pressure, no doubt.

"I know you want this as much as I do," Finn continued. "Or… probably more. You wanted me to love you, way back before I even knew your last name. And I… I do. You should be… happy."

Kurt closed his eyes.

"I'm not going to be _happy_ when you come to your senses, realize what you're doing, and run away again," he murmured.

"I'm not going to run away again."

"I don't know that."

"I'm not."

"And what's going to keep you from doing that?" Kurt opened his eyes. "Some twisted sense of obligation? Some fantasy of me that I can't live up to? We're always going to be stuck out here in reality, Finn. Reality is where I spend most of my time, and it's where we're both flawed, selfish, nasty people. Both of us. We hurt each other enough when we're just friends."

Finn didn't say anything. Kurt wasn't sure if he'd gotten through.

He sighed.

"I gave up on you, Finn. I did. I admit it. I wanted to keep hoping that you'd come back around, and come to terms with your feelings. One day, just like tonight, you'd do exactly what you did, and I'd believe you, and I'd know it was true. But I stopped hoping. And now that it's happened, I just don't know what to believe."

"Do you still… like me?" Finn asked.

"Yes." He shifted in his seat. "Yes, of course."

"If… if I could prove to you that…"

Kurt closed his eyes.

"Finn. Finn, just don't."

"If I could prove to you that I mean it, would you…" he stammered and blushed, "Would you love me back? That's… all I really want. And… maybe we could talk again and… stuff."

The rain continued.

"I really miss that. Talking and… stuff."

"I miss that, too," Kurt admitted in a barely audible whisper.

"Give me a chance, Kurt. Just… one chance, to make it all up to you. I… I probably can't do it, but-"

Kurt looked up at him. In the dimly lit car, he could just barely make out the earnest expression on Finn's face.

"But I really want to try."

Kurt sat up with a grunt, and pulled the seat back up into its original position.

"Can you drive us home?" he asked. "I'm still not… really seeing straight."

"Of course," Finn said quietly.

It was how their arguments always seemed to end. At least, the ones that didn't end in days of the silent treatment. A heartfelt apology, tears, drama, rain…

And then a simple request. And the granting of the request was the end of the argument.

But it was a relief, Kurt admitted, to realize that after all, the last three days had really been just that: an argument.

Not the end of the world.

Not the end of their relationship.

Not the end of _anything, _really.

God. They were both such _teenagers._

Burt and Carole were sound asleep when they got home, curled up together on the couch.

"God, look at them. Our parents are… _cute_," Kurt whispered, aghast.

"You know, it turns out old people can do a lot of stuff we can," Finn said with all seriousness, and not a trace of sarcasm.

"Like be cute." Kurt frowned.

"And make mistakes."

Going downstairs together, Kurt felt as though he was finally returning home from a long trip. The basement still reeked of stale air and tension, and he switched on the fan.

"You seriously talked to Mr. Schue's ex-wife about us?" Kurt asked suddenly, as Finn took off that hideous work apron that he probably wasn't supposed to wear home.

Finn looked up, and blushed.

"No. I mean… I didn't use your name."

"Did you at least give me a sexy pseudonym, like _Alejandro_?"

Finn smiled. He had apparently figured out what "pseudonym" meant from the context. Or else he was thinking about when they had watched the "Alejandro" video, and the way Lady Gaga's breasts had bounced when she was dancing around in her underwear, which, knowing Finn, was more likely.

"She… was really cool about it, anyway," Finn said thoughtfully. He grabbed a pair of shorts off the floor.

"What… what exactly did you tell her, then?" Kurt asked as he neatly hung up his jacket. He tried to keep his voice steady.

"I told her how I couldn't get you out of my head, and how I couldn't hear _Chicago_ without crying."

"Aww," Kurt said automatically. His face flushed. "You told her that?"

"Yeah. Why? I told you I talked to her."

"I didn't think you said anything that… adorable."

Finn's eyes flashed, and he unzipped his work pants and clumsily stepped out of them.

"I also told her we did it."

"You're an asshole, Finn Hudson," Kurt sighed exasperatedly. Out of habit, he pulled out the privacy partition, the one vestige of his ill-fated redecorating project, and quickly stepped behind it to get into his pajamas.

The lights went off a few minutes later. Finn had out his phone, playing a game. The mobile version of some army tactics game. He played it almost every night. The bluish-whitish light from the screen cast a ghostly glow on his face.

Finn couldn't sleep unless he blew something up first.

Kurt lay on his side, one arm under the pillow, watching that boy he had always loved, in spite of everything, doing such a mundane thing that he had done so many times before. Giving his entire attention to that damn 2 inch cellphone display.

But it was different now.

God. It was _different_ now!

Sometimes, he was almost as dense as Finn. He really was. Sometimes, it took someone to bash him over the head with a concept before he really got it.

_Finn Hudson loved him._

_Finn Hudson LOVED him!_

And he was just letting him lie there and play his damn video game!

Their parents were asleep. The doors were locked, the lights were out, the world was as it should have been, and yet Finn Hudson somehow loved him.

"Finn," he burst out.

"…Yeah?"

"I… feel much better now."

Finn looked at him.

"Oh, hey, that's… that's good," he said. "Whoa, hold on. Hold on. It's another damn vampire Nazi-"

In another moment, Kurt was in his lap. He had to give Wii Fit a good deal of credit for his increased agility. The way he perched on Finn's one bent knee was physical poetry.

Without another word, he snapped Finn's phone closed with one hand and dropped it onto the floor.


	19. Chapter 19

Finn pulled Kurt into a tight embrace, and with his one free hand, pulled the blanket over their heads.

God. This was happening. This _was really happening._

"Understand one thing, Finn Hudson," Kurt said between kisses, his voice muffled by the blanket, "I'm about to go too far."

"Oh, god, me too, Kurt, me too-"

"Yes. You too. Finn. We have to mean it. We have to mean this. We love each other, right?"

"Oh, god, yes. Yes. Yes…"

"We really do?"

"So, so much…"

"Finn. If you break my heart after this, I'll have you castrated. You'll be able to sing higher than me."

Finn stopped. He slowly sat up, pulling Kurt up with him. He flipped back the blankets.

"Kurt… is this it? My chance to show you I meant what I said?"

Kurt nodded.

"Yes, Finn, this would be that chance we spoke of."

_Okay._

"What do you want me to do?"

Kurt flushed.

"Well, Finn… you're not a puppet. I can't tell you what to do."

"I want you to believe me, Kurt. I want you to… do you want to wait?"

"No!" Kurt hissed. "When are we going to get another chance? I'm going to be busy with the play and Cheerios Nationals all next week! I'm not going to _wait!_"

God, `Kurt was sexy when he got all pissy and horny like that. Finn pulled him in for another kiss, the "shut up" kind of kiss.

Only without the slap this time.

And all at once, Finn had an idea. An absolutely insane, utterly batshit crazy, completely wrong idea. It was all that he could do not to laugh his ass off as he pulled Kurt back down under the covers.

Kurt was deeply grateful for the fact that he had to spent the entire weekend rehearsing for both the play and Nationals. It kept him from going completely insane, trying to get his head around the fact that whatever had happened last night had, in fact, happened.

His first impulse was to spend the entire weekend analyzing _it_ to death, complete with freehand journaling, angsty free-form poetry, free-flowing tears, and too many carbs.

His second impulse, and the one he ultimately went with, was to wake up next to Finn Hudson, in the same bed, outside of his dreams, _somehow,_ and plant a delicate kiss on the other boy's cheek.

"God, I love you," he whispered.

He had to get up. He had to get over to Mercedes' house to help her finish up Tina's costume, and a million other things. And he had to look as though he hadn't been crying for most of them.

So he got up. And he walked toward the bathroom.

He was just about to shut the door, when Finn answered him,

"I love you, too, babe."

"Hey," Kurt said, mock-sharply. "I'm not your babe."

The next few days were a blur, try as Finn did to enjoy every single moment.

By Wednesday night, only a few moments stuck out in his memory:

*Waking up on Saturday, realizing what they had done. In their own house. With their parents home. Just like Puck had said.

It hadn't been hard at all. Well, he wouldn't say that. They had had to be as quiet as was humanly possible. No acrobatics, either, which wasn't a problem for him, of course, but he could tell that when Kurt got really worked up, he was the kind of person who would balance on one hand, upside down. But they couldn't risk that. At least not now, with those damn bed springs that he would swear had not been that loud the night before.

So... yeah, a little hard. A little.

And had it been weird?

You bet your ass.

But had it been great?

Well... kinda. Neither of them were any good at it yet. They were actually really bad at it. He could tell Kurt was annoyed, probably because it hadn't been like it was in _Michelangelo's David_. But, they'd practice. They'd get better. _It_ would get better.

God. _It_ had _happened. It _would happen _again._

*Work on Saturday. Folded his first pillowcase.

*Work on Sunday. Was actually able to do it again. Well, kinda.

*School on Monday. Riding with Kurt. Pulling into the empty Burger King lot. Getting to homeroom late. More detention. _Good job, moron._

He couldn't help it. They were like bunnies together. Kurt was like a really pissy bunny.

*Glee rehearsals Monday night. Talked to Tina and Mercedes. Arranged collateral. At this rate, he owed so much money to so many people that he'd be working at Sheets N Things until he was forty.

Totally worth it.

*Got next three days off work somehow. Wouldn't have another day off until June 2013, according to an irritated Terri. Also worth it.

*Prison guy got fired. Finn received de facto promotion to head cool guy who worked at Sheets N Things.

*Tuesday. Kurt's first performance. Spectacular, except for how much they'd had to cut. The show was seriously like 45 minutes long. They had to bring out Mike to dance for ten minutes straight to fill time.

But spectacular.

* The "Everything Else" set brought a sentimental tear to his eye when it was wheeled out. Made a mental note to screw Kurt Hummel in that doorway once, somehow, before the set was torn down. Changed mind as soon as the whole thing almost collapsed again during the play.

God. They really, really hadn't built that set very well at all.

*Wednesday morning. Met with Mercedes in secret. Received parcel. Spent so long in the bathroom trying to figure out how to get the goddamn thing off that he ended up with detention again. Was now up to serving an average of 3 hours per day in detention for the rest of the school year.

*Glee rehearsals. Jesse didn't show up.

*Wednesday evening. Second performance. Somebody's damn grandma was in Finn's seat. That was _his_ seat. He had chosen it specifically because of his view of Kurt.

*Second choice seat turned out to be pretty good, too, though. Until whoever's damn grandma decided she needed to clap after every single song. In Kurt's words, you just didn't _do_ that!

*Jesse wasn't at the performance, either. Rachel didn't miss a beat, though he could tell something was up. He felt really bad for Artie, who was playing Billy Flynn, and had her screaming right in his ear through all of their scenes.

Leaving the school that night, walking out into the parking lot, Finn was ready to burst with excitement. He had to conceal it, though, so as not to arouse suspicion.

Heh. Arouse. It was funny because he was having sex with Kurt.

"I wish you could just... enjoy it," Finn said as they got in the car. "I mean, not everyone gets to be on Fox Sports Net."

"Coach Sylvester said the same thing."

"Yeah, but... it's still true."

"I know, Finn. I know. What's the matter with me? We're going to Nationals. We're almost guaranteed to win. It'll be amazing. I just... wish I didn't feel so much like I'm going off and leaving my baby unattended."

"The play, you mean?"

"No, Finn, I mean my actual baby."

Finn frowned. Kurt let out an irritated breath.

"Yes. The play. It's ridiculous, isn't it? How many people showed up last night? Three?"

"There were more than that."

"And tonight? Four?"

"There were way more than that..."

"Right, it was more like six. And yet... the play matters more to me than almost anything else going on right now. Why is that, Finn? Why is it that I can put so much love and energy into something that really, in the long run-"

Finn put his hand on the smaller boy's shoulder.

"Because it's you. It's who you are. It's your dream. It's all that stuff. Cheerios is just... that other thing you do."

Kurt nodded.

"It really is. Shouldn't that make me feel bad?"

"No."

They got in the car.

"Plus, Coach Sylvester is crazy," Finn continued. "She wouldn't even think twice about cutting Glee and the play, and having us all hobbled. Whatever that means." Finn paused.

"I'm not saying you should throw the competition or anything. But don't force yourself to feel good about giving her another trophy. I mean, not if you don't already feel good about it."

Kurt gave Finn a look that was practically bursting with affectionate pride.

"You keep your secret well, Finn Hudson."

"What secret?"

"The secret where you're actually a genius."


	20. Chapter 20

The play ended with little enough fanfare. The auditorium was at its fullest on Friday night, a little over a third of the seats were filled.

Kurt considered it a success. Not a triumph, but certainly a success.

It was resume filler, at the very least.

Nationals, on the other hand, had gone and surprised him, and brought him what he quickly realized was very close to his once-unattainable definition of fame.

His name on the news.

His picture in the paper.

The Neanderthals at school stopping him in the hallway for a different reason than to throw frozen syrup in his face. Pasty-faced girls who wanted his autograph, and who stared at him with glittering blue eyes as he signed their notebooks in French.

Of course, this fame didn't cross over into the final performance of the play. And he felt a deep pang of irritation as he realized with that final bow that Cheerio Kurt Hummel and Actor Kurt Hummel would probably always be two separate entities, at least in the eyes of his fans.

He was well on his way to scheduling a portrait session to take separate 8 ½ by 11 glossies of both of his alter egos, complete with subtly different hairdos, when Finn walked in the door, home from work.

"You're early," Kurt said. He closed his laptop.

"Yeah. Another bomb threat."

"Puck?" Kurt asked warily.

"I don't know."

He crossed the floor. Kurt met him halfway.

Finn bit his lip.

"Are-"

Finn didn't even have to finish the sentence. Kurt smiled and shook his head.

"Both had to work late."

"Sweet." Finn leaned down for a kiss. "Hey, I almost forgot. I got your video."

Kurt smiled giddily.

"All four nights? Including Thursday?"

"Yeah. And whoever's damn grandma on Wednesday clapping all the time."

He handed Kurt a burned DVD. He wasn't exactly sure who had done the taping, but he'd taken a peek at the video, and it was pretty good quality. At least as good as that Youtube video of Spring Awakening that Kurt had pretended he wasn't watching.

Well, the kiss could wait, he supposed, as Kurt ran across the carpet and popped in the DVD.

"Hey..." Finn said after a minute. "Um... could I just check something really quick? Artie said something funny happens at 2:34:29."

"Something funny good, or something funny bad?" Kurt asked warily.

"Good?"

Kurt hesitated a moment, then handed Finn the remote.

"I'm going to be up all night watching this, you know. Oh, look at me, my legs look like sausages."

"Your legs are hot," Finn said, fast-forwarding.

2:34:29.

Applause. The opening lines.

"This is from Thursday," Kurt realized. "I wasn't there. God! What happened on Thursday? What did Artie see that was so funny?"

"I don't know, let's find out."

Mike's muffled voice. He played the piano guy, who actually didn't play the piano so much as he danced around the piano.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, the Onyx Club is proud to present Chicago's hottest dancing duo. Two jazz babes moving as one! The Kelly Sisters!"_

The lighting came up on Velma, standing there in all "her" glory. Finn glanced over at Kurt to gauge his reaction.

Kurt had gone completely white.

Finn had to admit, watching himself up there on the screen, doing the best he could with the dancing in that damn dress, he looked pretty hot. He was totally worthy of that random girl's scream in a second here-

"Finn, what the hell did you do?" Kurt said over the girl's scream.

"I bribed Tina to let me play Velma for you on Thursday."

"That's what I thought," Kurt said. His eyes were wide, unblinking, watering.

They watched in silence for a moment. Kurt pulled Finn close to him, clutching the taller boy's arm as though he never wanted to let go.

"You're a maniac," Kurt said with quiet awe.

"I know the dancing's really bad."

"Yeah."

"But... I was totally singing my heart out. I know how corny that sounds, but it's totally true. I mean it. I got dizzy and everything."

Kurt turned to him with a smile of pure bliss.

"Well, Finn, that's what's supposed to happen."

He fell asleep that night with the songs in his head, as usual.

Only this time, they were in his own voice.


End file.
